


I Never Did Mind...

by Olive_Gideon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Member Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, Sam is a Sweetheart, Secret Past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 39,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10030601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olive_Gideon/pseuds/Olive_Gideon
Summary: For ten years she was a military field surgeon.  Seven years after leaving the military, she’s traveling across the country with the Winchesters, pulling bullets, sewing stitches, and popping joints back in, but who was she during those seven unaccounted for years?





	1. There are Worse Places

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome. Let me know what you think!

The motel room I sat in was dark and had that damp, cold smell to it, characteristic of places like this.  The kind of place you don’t want to take off your shoes for fear of what’s lingering on the carpet.  The kind of place to avoid using a black light.

Since I’d met the Winchesters, I’d been to thirty different, crappy motels, removed three or four bullets, popped in over fifteen various dislocated joints, and stitched up those boys more times than I could count.  They certainly knew how to get hurt.  While the brothers had been more than fine without me, we all knew that I was definitely an asset.  I knew proper suturing and wound cleaning and if needed, I was handy with a surgical skin stapler.  The patch jobs that I could provide were far more sophisticated, and healed far faster, if not far nicer in appearance.  Everything I did was substantially better than a needle, some dental floss, and the customary whiskey bath.  In the long run, my ten years as a military field surgeon had most certainly paid off, well, that’s what I told the boys at least... 

So there I sat, blinds closed, lights dim, sitting in an armchair facing the door - pistol in hand.  I never knew what would burst through that door – it could be a million and one things, all equally as bad.  It was always good to be prepared; a dead medic isn’t any good to anyone.

Sure enough, the brothers burst through the door, panting and bleeding.  It was Dean this time.  He had a long, deep gash on his right thigh, that ran dangerously close to the femoral artery.  I bolted out of the chair and helped Sam rest Dean on the bed.

“Lay back, Dean,” I said, gently pushing his shoulders to the bed, “These jeans are gonna have to go.”

“Woah, not on the first date, sister.” He chuckled weakly as the pain began to set in. 

“Yeah, sure Casanova.  Now let’s get this fixed.” I said shortly.

I grabbed my surgical scissors and sliced off the leg of the jeans, up to the waistband, giving the scraps to Sam to throw away. 

“I need you to keep pressure on this wound, Sam,” I said, placing his hands firmly on the gauze covering the bloody gash, “Nice and tight now, can you do that for me?”

He nodded, rather unfazed. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Alright Dean, I’ve got to put a tourniquet on your leg.  I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, it’s gonna hurt.”

Dean grunted in response and gave me the ‘ok’ gesture with his fingers.  I started cranking down the tourniquet, high up on his thigh, well above the wound.  He cried out as it tightened, cutting off blood supply to the wound below. 

“Start cleaning that wound, Sam.  I have to stitch him up.”  I got up from my seat on the bed and prepared sutures and the staple gun.  I came back over to Dean and began sewing up the deep part of the wound.  Dean passed out from the pain sometime in the middle, but that was probably for the best.  Once the internal sutures were done, I removed the tourniquet and stapled the superficial layer closed.  I made a final cleaning pass over the wound with a saline solution and pat it dry before dressing it snugly with a clean bandage.  Once I was satisfied with my handiwork, I removed Dean’s boots and his remaining pant leg.  Sam helped me strip his brother down to an undershirt before propping up his injured leg and pulling the covers up over him.  

“Thanks, Sam.” I said, wiping a few strands of hair out of my face with the back of my hand.  I grabbed a change of clothes before making my way into the bathroom to take a quick shower – mostly to wash the dried blood off my hands that had somehow gotten through my gloves. 

The water felt good on my skin and helped me clear my head.  Stitching up Dean had taken about an hour, the worst one yet. I hated to see those boys in pain.  It was times like that, I wondered how they got by without me, but then I’d always remember who they are. 

I dried off and got out of the shower, changing into a pair of soft pants and a tank top before slipping on my “motel slippers” that were specifically for dingy places like this.  Sam and Dean always laughed at that, knowing in the back of their minds that I’ve had to be in worse places with far fewer comforts. 

I walked back into the main room and shook my hair with my towel before combing it through with my fingernails and weaving it into a tight French braid.  I looked up to see a bruised and battered Sam nodding off in the armchair.  I noticed a small square of gauze on his cheek held by medical tape.  It was slowly turning from white to pink to a bright red as gravity drew blood from the apparent wound there. 

“Why didn’t you mention that you were hurt too?” I asked, my tone accusatory.  Sam jumped a bit as he woke from his light sleep.

“It didn’t seem fair to ask you to fix me after an hour of working on Dean,” he shrugged, “It’s not life-threatening.”

“So…you just slapped a Band-Aid on it?” I walked over to him and tilted his head at an angle, peeling back the gauze so that I could see the wound. “This needs stitches, Sam. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Yeah,” he conceded, “I couldn’t see it well enough to do it myself.”

I sighed, shaking my head at him. “Don’t move,” I warned.  After cleaning his wound, I unwrapped a sterile set of sutures and sewed three neat, parallel stitches into his cheek.  Sam didn’t even flinch as I pierced his skin with the sharp needle.  The wound was then covered with a thin layer of Vaseline and some clean gauze, held in place with more medical tape.

“Thanks.” Sam looked up at me, his hazel eyes showing only true sincerity and a hint of exhaustion.  I smiled at him, a small, joyless smile, and pressed a light kiss to the top of his head.  I gave him a brief pat on his good cheek and gestured to the bed behind me.

“Go to bed, Sam.  I’ll keep an eye on Dean for a while.”

He nodded, walking over to the unoccupied bed and landing unceremoniously on his stomach, shoes and all.  His breathing quickly became deep and even, the day’s excitement finally taking its toll. 

I sighed and took a blanket and my computer from my bag, placing them gently next to Dean on the bed. I made sure that Dean was breathing easily and I took his pulse. Then I set about searching through one of the grocery bags on the table, ending up with a small bag of chips to snack on.  The boys always made the _healthiest_ choices while on a hunt; there wasn’t a thing in the room that qualified as real food.

I sat down next to Dean as softly as possible before spreading my blanket out over myself, opening my laptop, and practically shoving a handful of processed goodness into my mouth.  

 _My Fair Lady_ was my guilty pleasure this time.  Movies always seemed to help me decompress, I wasn’t a drinker like the boys were. I sat there humming along to the music when a lazy hand reached over to steal chips from me. 

“It’s rude to steal people’s food,” I scolded lightly, not taking my eyes from the computer screen.

“I’m wounded, gimme a break.” Dean mumbled, cramming a handful of chips into his mouth.  I chuckled softly at him.

“Just this once,” I conceded, “because you’re wounded.”  I tilted the opening of the chip bag toward him and he took a few more chips.

“What lame show are you watching this time?” he asked, his mouth full.  I knew he meant it jokingly, but I still frowned at him.

“It’s a classic, Dean. Just shut up and watch.”  He did, and we laid there together, eyes glued to the screen.  I’m positive Dean ended up liking the movie, although I’m pretty sure he’d never admit it. 

I was half asleep when I felt the warmth from my computer leave my lap and heard the soft clatter of Dean placing it on the nightstand.


	2. Sabotage

The next morning passed by slowly.  No one was in any particular hurry to get moving, considering the bumps and bruises from the night before.  Sam was up early, as usual, and had already taken his shower and dressed for the day before I had even wiped the sleep from my eyes.  He roused me gently from my sleep and whispered that he was going off to get some breakfast.  I nodded sleepily before the realization set in that I was going to be the one that had to get Dean ready to go. 

“Sam, wait!” I whisper-yelled to him urgently. “How am I going to get Dean to bathe?”

“Just tell him to take a bath. He’ll listen to you.” Sam smiled somewhat impishly as he slipped out the door, closing it behind him and leaving me standing there, mouth hung open in disbelief.

“He’ll listen to you,” I repeated mockingly, “yeah, right.”  I walked over to Dean’s side of the bed and slapped him on his good leg. “Up and at ‘em, tiger! Bath time.”

“Baths are for chicks,” Dean grumbled, burrowing his face into a pillow.

“Well, you can’t take a shower because soap and all manner of dirty things that you still have on you from last night, will run right into the wound.”

Dean grunted and covered his ears with the pillow.

“Fine. Sam will just give you a sponge bath when he gets back…”

At that, Dean sat straight up with alacrity.

“I suggest you get in there.” I smirked at him triumphantly; he just glared.

“Fine.” He said.

I went into the bathroom and started the tub faucet, testing the temperature of the water and throwing in a washrag.  Then I brought all of Dean’s toiletries down to the ledge of the tub so he’d be able to reach them and set a towel out on the lid of the toilet.  I walked back out to Dean to help him into the bathroom.  I had him drape his right arm over my shoulder so that I could provide support on his injured side and he used his other arm and uninjured leg to help heave himself off of the bed. 

After a short walk and a lot of wincing, we made it to the bathroom and Dean was able to sit on the side of the tub to catch his breath again. 

“Alright, strip.” I ordered, clapping my hands together.  Dean looked up at me wide-eyed and shook his head.

“Nuh-uh, you’re not seeing me in my birthday suit,” he crossed his arms, “Not gonna happen.” 

I placed my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? I’m a doctor for heaven’s sake.  I promise I won’t look.” 

Dean sighed heavily and wrestled with himself for a minute before nodding his assent. “No looking,” he reminded me.

Dean needed no help with his shirt, but getting his boxers over the large wound on his thigh was going to be tricky.  I told him to slide the boxers off his ass and I did the rest, gently easing the fabric over the wound, making sure not to bump it.  All went smoothly and I was finally able to help Dean ease himself into the warm water below.  I reminded him to clean _around_ the wound and to not try to get out, but to call me back in when he was finished, then I left him to his bathing, chuckling to myself as I went.  I grabbed my cellphone from the nightstand, where I had been charging it, and sent Sam a quick message:

“Decaf coffee for Dean. Don’t ask why.”

Sam replied “Okay,” and that was that.

While Dean was in the bath, I looked up hospitals that were in the area, in hopes of replenishing some of my supplies.  As I was doing so, I heard Dean singing strains of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” and I smiled to myself.

“Lovely singing voice, Dean.” I called in to him.

“Shut up!” he called back, but he kept singing and splashing water around.

After a short while, Dean had finished in the bath and I went in to help him, placing a towel on the floor so he didn’t slip, and grabbing the one off of the toilet lid that I had set out earlier.  Once we had gotten Dean standing, I handed him the towel to wrap about his waist and very slowly helped him out of the tub.  I went out of the bathroom again so that he could dry off and when he was done, we made our way back to the bed. Dean sat still as I redressed his wound and didn’t complain when I had to help him into a clean set of boxers.

By that time, Sam had come back bearing food.  He had found a small café and had brought us warm, hearty breakfast sandwiches and hot coffee.  He must have been craving something on the healthier side as much as I was.

When we finished eating, Sam took his turn helping Dean. He cursed in pain as Sam tried to slide jeans over his injured leg and Sam eventually gave up, suggesting that Dean just wear his boxers on the way home.  It was not received well.

“I’m not leaving this room without pants on, Sammy.” Dean stated, in a tone that just bordered on begging.  Sam put up his hands in mock surrender and shrugged.

“You’re right, Dean. Nobody wants to see that anyway…” Sam struggled to keep a straight face, but ultimately broke into laughter.  Of course, he was encouraged by my quiet mirth and the distraught look on Dean’s face. 

Once the comedy had died down, we all settled on finding Dean a few pairs of loose fitting pants as we got a bit further down the road.  Unfortunately for Dean that meant hobbling out from the motel to the Impala in his underwear. 

As soon as Sam and I finished loading the car, we helped Dean into the back seat, much to his chagrin.  I had thrown my duffel bag into the back earlier and I told Dean to prop his leg up on it once he was situated.  He pilfered my travel blanket out of the bag, draping it over himself and closing his eyes.  A few minutes later he was fast asleep.

“Didn’t he just wake up about an hour ago?” Sam gestured at Dean with his thumb, glancing at me suspiciously.

“I may or may not have slipped a dose of sleep medication into his coffee.  It actually worked pretty seamlessly; I thought we might have to carry him out here.”

“You drugged him?” Sam was incredulous, he raised his eyebrows at me and shook his head.

“Oh come on, he needs to get as much sleep as possible to help him heal.  Besides, we both know that he’d just be bitchin’ and moanin’ the whole way home anyway.”

Sam shook his head again and smirked, “That’s why the decaf coffee. Remind me not to get on your bad side; you’re devious.”

“Mm, devious? I don’t know, Sam. I think I prefer surreptitious.” I fanned my hands out in a rainbow shape in front of me, as if the word had appeared in the air.  I grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes and tapped the roof of the car.

“Let’s get on the road.”  He climbed into the driver’s seat and I rode shotgun.  Sam brought the Impala to life, the engine rumbling the vehicle’s metal frame.  The sound was warm and comforting and the vibrations extended from the floorboard up into my feet and legs.  It was easy to see why the boys loved this car so much: it was home.

The first 70 miles or so passed in comfortable silence, but Sam soon became restless and turned on the radio.

“What do you want to listen to?”  He asked, flipping through the stations.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something Dean would hate. Find the pop station or something,” I slid down in my seat so I could lean my head back, “He’ll be waking up soon…make it loud.” I flashed Sam a cheeky grin before closing my eyes with a contented smile.

Sam settled on an 80’s pop station and turned it way up.  Almost on cue, we heard a groan emanating from the back seat.

“Really guys? _Wham!_?” Dean grumbled from the back.  I started singing along to the music while Sam turned it up even louder.

“Sorry Dean, I can’t hear you. Music’s too loud!” Sam shouted back at Dean, eyeing him through the rearview mirror.  Dean rolled his eyes at us and flopped back down on the seat, pulling the blanket up over his head. 

Once the song had ended, Sam turned the radio back down and peered at Dean again through the mirror.

“There’s a sportswear store at the next exit, we’ll stop and get you some pants then find someplace to eat.  How’re you feeling?”

Dean sat up in the seat and waved his brother off while rubbing his hands over his face to wake himself up.

“I’m good,” Dean said, rolling back his shoulders, “I could go for a burger right about now though.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, shrugging. “Pants first though.” I glanced over at Sam and earned an amused smile.


	3. Appeasing the Invalid

We stopped at the sportswear store a short time later and Sam ran in to get the new pants for Dean.

“Don’t kill each other.” Sam had said before he left.  What a fun wrecker.

It was comfortably quiet in the Impala while we waited for Sam, but Dean must’ve been bored because he struck up conversation.

“That was a great nap,” he said, lacing his fingers and resting his hands in his lap.  I could feel his gaze resting on the back of my head and turned towards him just a bit, avoiding eye contact.  Don’t make eye contact. When I didn’t answer, Dean continued. “I don’t think I’ve slept like that in…ever.”

“Well, you must’ve been really tired…you _do_ have quite a large wound.”  I shrugged, playing it off.  At that point I was sure that Dean knew I had drugged him.  It was a feeling of vulnerability and lack of control that I knew he hated. He had refused sedatives before, but this time the wound was worse so I wasn’t going to let him bully me.  He leaned forward and rested his arms on the back of my seat, looking over at me so that I was forced to meet his eyes.  He has a tendency to be rather intimidating.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’ll get you back.”  He held eye contact for a moment but leaned back in his seat as soon as the car door opened.  Sam slid into the vehicle and gave us both a questioning look.  I smiled at him, almost nervously, but Dean, ever so skilled, maintained a completely straight face.

Sam quickly shrugged it off and dug into the bag of clothes that he’d brought back.  He pulled out a pair of sweat pants and tossed them back to Dean, who caught them deftly and painstakingly slid them up his legs, this time refusing anyone’s help.

My stomach gurgled loudly, drawing a chuckle from Sam as he started up the car again.

“Alright, food it is!”

We took off to find a decent burger place, but just ended up at a diner.  Again. Still, how could I complain?  I wasn’t the one paying.

            We stuck to the basics: burger, salad, soup.  I decided on the tomato soup and grilled cheese and sat nursing my coffee till it arrived. 

            “You know that’s more milk and sugar than coffee, right?”  Dean gestured at my cup and raised an eyebrow.

            “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” While I spoke, I looked Dean in the eye and poured a fourth packet of sugar into the steaming drink.  Dean just grumbled and shook his head.

            “Ruining perfectly good coffee,” he said under his breath. I heard a thump and looked up to see Dean’s face contort in pain and Sam cast him an admonishing glare.

            “Why’d you kick me, man?” Dean leaned down to rub his shin and Sam ignored him, face buried in a newspaper.  I smiled and took a drink of my coffee, enjoying the warmth as it cascaded down my throat.

            The food arrived shortly and was received with gusto.  The creamy, warm soup contrasted sharply with the chill of the misty, gray afternoon and I sat quietly dipping my sandwich into the red liquid and taking small bites every so often.

            “So…what was it this time?” I ventured, taking another bite. Dean put down his burger, clearly agitated.

            “Dean…” Sam started.

            “No, Sam. The deal was, we let her tag along and she doesn’t get involved with the job.”

            I swallowed my bite of food and spoke up, not content to let the boys talk about me like I wasn’t even there.

            “Listen Dean, I want no part in the hunting, I can promise you that.  But in all honesty… we all know that there’s no way that I can be uninvolved.  From the day I signed up to play ‘doctor’ for you boys, I got a target on my back, same as you.  Now, I just want to know what did that to your leg last night so that in the future, I know exactly what I’m dealing with.  That’s it.” No one spoke for a few moments so I picked up my sandwich again, looking for the next best bite. Eventually Sam spoke up, breaking the silence.

            “It was a Wendigo.  Big sharp claws,” Sam gestured with his hands, “they’re incredibly fast.”

            “So, how’d you kill it?” I lifted my soup bowl to my mouth, finishing the last drops and wiping my face with a napkin.

            “You have to burn the fuckers.” Sam and I both looked up at Dean, who had spoken.  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If you ask me, we didn’t do it quick enough.”

            “And that’s how you got hurt?” Both boys looked at me rather sheepishly, neither answered my question. “Dean. If that gash had been a couple centimeters over, you would’ve bled out and no matter how good I am, I wouldn’t have been able to do shit. If you die again, you’re not coming back.”

            “Yeah? Well, that’s the job.” Dean had his, ‘this is our burden’ face on and it was pissing me off. I rolled my eyes and snorted at his comment, earning a surprised look from both men. 

            “You two have a freaking death wish.” I muttered.  I looked down at the sandwich in my hands and suddenly wasn’t very hungry anymore.  I dropped it onto the plate and made a face. “I’ve apparently lost my appetite.  Let me out, Sam.”  I nudged Sam’s leg and he slid out of the booth, allowing me to get out behind him. “I’ll be in the car.” I walked out of the diner and got into the front seat of the Impala. I folded my arms across my chest and sat quietly, wishing we were already at the bunker.

            It was only a few minutes before Dean hobbled out to the car, assisted by Sam, who was trying desperately to get Dean to ‘slow down before you fall on your face’.  Dean grumpily waved Sam off before flinging open the back door of the Impala and plopping himself down heavily upon the seat.  Sam walked around to the driver’s side and got in, placing a small Styrofoam box on the seat next to him.

            “I thought you might want the rest of your sandwich later,” he said quietly, “we still have a couple hours to go and you didn’t eat very much.”

            I looked up at him, and smiled a bit.  His kindness never ceased to amaze me.

            “Thanks, Sam.  I’m sure my appetite will come back later.”

            Sam nodded and started the car.  He put his arm on the back of the seat and twisted around to look out of the rear window as he backed out of the parking lot of the diner.  As he was turned, he caught Dean’s eye and shook his head in exasperation.  Dean rolled his eyes and redirected his gaze out the window, while I sat quietly in the passenger seat, feeling guilty.  I knew that it was my outburst that had made everyone so sulky and I also knew that I had overstepped my boundaries.  I wasn’t part of their family; I hadn’t earned that right yet.  I was just the medic; I had become attached to the Winchesters and obviously they knew that now, but they had never reciprocated the sentiment. Probably because I still shrouded my past from them in relative mystery. I was still expendable; yeah, sure they’d feel bad if I died, but in the end I would just be unfortunate collateral damage. 

            “Guys…” I started, once we had gotten onto the highway again, “I’m sorry about what I said at the diner. I’m not a hunter so I really have no clout in those matters.  I was out of line.”

            Sam looked over and smiled reassuringly, I knew he wasn’t mad to begin with.  It was Dean’s approval I was looking for.  I turned in my seat and looked back at him.

            “You were just concerned,” Dean said, “It’s understandable, given your background.”

            “So we’re good?” I asked hopefully.

            “Yeah…we’re good”


	4. Secrets

While we had resolved out brief spat, Dean still maintained his pensive, sulky attitude.  He kept it in the backseat though, staring out the window at the landscape that breezed past.  Four hours passed by in relative silence, the only sounds were the throaty rumble of the engine and the classic rock station playing on low.

We finally made it to Sioux Falls, our halfway stop between Minnesota and the bunker in Kansas. There were more direct routes of course, but the boys were familiar with Sioux Falls because of the late Bobby Singer and the sheriff-turned-hunter, Jody Mills.  Dean had called ahead to Jody, asking if we could stay at her cabin for the night and she had agreed, stating that she needed some better company than the two sulky teens she had taken in. 

‘Won’t she be surprised…’ I thought to myself, stealing a glance at Dean’s reflection in the side mirror of the car.

We arrived at Jody’s cabin at about 5 o’clock that evening to find her in the middle of baking a chicken pot pie for all of us, which, if the smell was any indicator of the taste, I knew would be delicious. The hearty aroma filled the cabin and the heat emanating from the oven warmed the house, making for a rather enticing and relaxing atmosphere.

Jody had welcomed us inside with a wide smile and open arms. Sam wasted no time in introducing me to Jody and I immediately knew we would get along famously.  She had a no-nonsense attitude, clearly trusted the Winchesters implicitly, and seemed to have a genuine concern for me.  She had squirrelled me away into the kitchen while she finished up dinner and the boys converted the living room to sleep mode for the night.

“So,” Jody started, addressing me, “What got you involved with those two knuckleheads.”

I laughed and Jody smiled back at me, awaiting an answer. “Well, I was in combat medicine for a number of years, dealing with the same kinds of wounds that Sam and Dean seem to be magnets for. I met them while they were working a job in Florida; a ghost was inhabiting my apartment building and while snooping around in _my_ apartment, two rather large, intimidating men found themselves looking down the barrel of my .45.” I chuckled at the memory of the look on their faces and shrugged, “It just went from there, really.”

Jody had been listening intently and smiled when I finished my story. “You have a way of sharing just enough to hide the vagueness of your story. I know there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

I shook my head and smiled a bit, “Well, that’s all care to tell.  Not even Sam and Dean know much about my past.  Just enough to know that I’m trustworthy.”

“Oh come on, that’s all you’re going to tell me?  You’re being awfully mysterious, Doc,” Jody eyed me, eyebrows raised, expecting more from me.

The mood’s previous levity was sucked from the room as my expression turned serious and my tone deadly. “There are some things that are better left in the past, Jody. What do you say we leave them there?”

Before she could answer, Dean walked – hobbled – in, “Alright ladies,” he clapped his hands together, “The couches are ready and after all that work, I’m starving.”

Sam walked in behind Dean and scoffed, “What work? You sat in the way and bossed me around the whole time.”

They continued bantering back and forth for a while, thankfully ignoring the tension that had settled in the room between Jody and I.  The two of us set the table quickly, brought the serving dishes out, and herded the brothers toward the food. Jody called for her two ‘adopted daughters’ to come eat, which prompted the emergence of the girls, who swiftly plated their food and headed back to their respective rooms with a chorus of ‘Thanks Jody’ and the cacophony of slamming doors.

Jody just stood shaking her head, “I swear, it’s like trying to bottle a hurricane.  Or two, for that matter.”

I smiled at her, an attempt at smoothing over my earlier comment. “Dinner looks great, Jody.”

“Aww, well thanks, honey. I’m glad y’all are here to enjoy it with me.” She put her arm around me and squeezed me into a small side hug before leaning closer to whisper in my ear, “Just know, that if you ever need to tell that story of yours, I’m all ears.  Those two boys are too.” She squeezed gently again, let me go, and took a seat at the dinner table.  I followed suit, and the four of us took turns filling each other’s plates with food. We spent the evening with good food, good drinks, and good company, sharing exaggerated stories and laughing until our ribs were sore.

Around midnight, we wrapped it up and got ready for bed.  Jody wished us ‘goodnight’ and headed to her room.  The three of us that remained exchanged glances around the living room, taking inventory of the available sleeping arrangements.

Before I could react, the boys made a beeline for the foldout bed, ignoring my protests about sleeping on the loveseat.

“Seriously guys? I always get the crappy spot.” I sighed and stomped over to the loveseat, throwing back the covers and plopping down. I shot both Winchesters my best death glare as they laughed quietly at me.

“It’s because you’re the smallest, you can stretch out perfectly over there. We’re both too tall.” Dean gestured at Sam, then at his own leg and faked a wince. “Besides, I’m injured.”

I rolled my eyes and climbed between the covers on my couch. I shifted until I was relatively comfortable and huffed ‘goodnight’ to the brothers.

Sam and Dean both responded in kind and we all settled in for the night. Just as I was drifting off to sleep I heard Dean’s voice ever so softly say, “I told you I’d get you back, sweetheart.”


	5. Comfort

I awoke the next morning with a stiff neck, a sore back, and an arm numb from sleeping on it.  The fire that had given us such cozy warmth had long since died out and a chill had settled in the living room.  I peeked at my watch – 6:00 a.m. – and burrowed down into my blankets.  The boys were both still fast asleep a few feet away; it was unusual for me to be the first one awake. I reasoned it away, blaming it on the cold room, and pressed my eyes shut in a vain attempt to catch another hour of sleep. 

After rubbing my hands, feet, legs, and whatever else together for friction and ultimately failing to warm up, I peeled back my covers, swung my legs off the edge of the couch, and sat up, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders to stave off the chill.  I tiptoed over to the hearth and loosely crumpled up some newspaper before strategically placing kindling and a piece of soft wood in the fireplace. I lit the paper and hoped for the best – fire starting clearly wasn’t my forte. The paper caught fire, blackened, and shriveled up, extinguishing the fire and my hopes of warmth. 

I tried again, this time cramming the crumpled newspaper under the wood forcefully, not caring what the pile of flammables looked like.  I lit the paper again. The kindling caught the small flames and began to smolder. Leaning down, I gently blew on the embers, causing the kindling to grow healthy flames that spread fervently to the larger piece of soft wood.  I sat watching the fire grow for a long while, adding another piece of soft wood and this time a piece of denser wood as well.  Satisfied with the blaze that I had nurtured to life, I laid down on the carpet, beside the hearth, and finally dozed off again with the warmth of the fire lulling me back to sleep.

The sound of bacon being fried in the kitchen woke me for the second time and I rolled over to see the rest of the room.  Sam was cooking and chatting amiably with Jody over what smelled like freshly brewed coffee. I stretched uncomfortably, arching my back off of the floor and simultaneously searching for Dean.  He hadn’t gone far; he was still asleep on the pull out bed.  Good, he needed the rest.

I sat up to check the fire and saw that a new log had been added to it.  I suspected it was Sam that noticed my lust for warmth and had made a point to keep the fire going for me.  I smiled to myself and got up from the floor, taking my blanket with me into the kitchen to join Sam and Jody.

“Mm, smells good in here, guys.”  I sniffed the air appreciatively and gave them both a tired smile. 

“Oh, hey there sleepyhead,” Jody said, placing a steaming cup of coffee in my hands.

“Thanks Jody, just what I need.  It was chilly this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Chilly enough that you woke up just to make a fire,” Sam turned from the stove and smiled, “I guess there’s a reason we found you hiding away in Florida.”

I had been taking a sip of coffee as he spoke, but choked and sputtered a bit when he said that.  I cleared my throat, then spoke.

“What makes you think I was hiding?”

Sam gave me a quizzical look and opened his mouth to speak, but Jody beat him to it.

“Well, you just don’t have any meat on your bones, of course you’d be living in a warm place,” Jody smiled at me knowingly, “I bet you’re just always cold.”

I nodded, playing it off, clued in to Jody’s game, “Always.  I can’t stand winters.”

That got Sam started on a story about a particularly cold hunt that he and Dean had been on, years ago, somewhere in the Colorado mountains…the year they found a Colt or something…

I zoned out a few words into his story, but caught Jody’s eye and mouthed a ‘thanks’ to her.  She winked and joined in on Sam’s reminiscence while starting on a batch of scrambled eggs with onions and bell peppers that filled a huge cast iron skillet almost to the brim.  I listened contentedly to the two of them chatter on, feeling happy and safe for the first time in years.

About an hour and a half later, after breakfast had been devoured, the kitchen cleaned, and the living room returned to its previous function, Sam, Dean, and I got back on the road.  We had around five hours left until we were back at the bunker, a trip that was made twice as long by the fact that Dean was injured and couldn’t take a shift driving.  Of course, I was restricted from driving the Impala, Dean’s rationale being that he hadn’t known me since I was a baby and therefore, couldn’t drive _his_ Baby.  I couldn’t blame him, if I had a car like that, I wouldn’t want anyone else driving it either, but the fact remained that we wouldn’t have had to stay overnight at Jody’s had I been able to take a turn at the wheel.  Still, we were on our way again, Dean grumbling about being in the back and Sam casting him admonishing glances from the front. 

“Can’t you just drug him again?” Sam sighed, gripping the wheel tighter and gritting his teeth.

“Dude, I heard that!”

“Sorry Sam, last time was just lucky.  He won’t trust me with his coffee for a long time, besides, I don’t want the short couch again.”

“But you’re the only one that fits,” Sam chuckled a bit, glancing over at me.

“It’s not my fault that you’re fucking ten feet tall.”  I laughed lightly and sighed, “You’d be a sniper’s dream target.  Tall like that…easy to spot.”

“Um, thanks?” Sam looked over, eyebrows raised.

“Did I say that out loud? Oops.  The strangest thoughts pop into my head sometimes.”  I smiled at him, “Don’t worry Sam, you’re not on my hit-list.”


	6. Painful Memories

We arrived at the bunker stiff and bored, but in good time.  Sam pulled into the garage and we all piled out of the Impala grabbing our bags as we went.  After heading into the bunker, I trudged down the hallway to my room and dropped off my bag before going back to help Sam with his and Dean’s bags while he helped Dean to his room. 

Sam met up with me in the kitchen after dropping Dean off and together we started on a late lunch.  I found tomatoes and lettuce in the fridge that had somehow stayed fresh while we were gone.  I had Sam wash and slice the produce while I fried up some bacon and slid some bread into the toaster.  Once the bacon was done and the bread toasted, I slathered it with mayonnaise followed by strategically placed bacon, lettuce, and tomato.

“Help yourself Sam, I’m gonna take this to the invalid.  You made him take his meds, right?”

“Yeah, he took them.  Not the antibiotic though right?”

“No, that’s a topical.  I’ll put that on now and change his bandages.” I turned to leave, Dean’s sandwich in hand, but turned back at the last minute, “Hey Sam, how is he…you know, up here?” I tapped my forefinger to my head and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Sam looked up at me tentatively and gave a small shrug, “He’ll be fine.  He’s been through a lot; this isn’t even the worst that’s happened to him.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded, turned, and started down the hallway towards Dean’s room.  I knocked lightly on the door and entered after I got the ‘ok’.

“Hey, I brought you lunch.  Figured you’d be hungry.” I walked into the room and slid the sandwich I was holding onto the nightstand beside Dean’s bed, trading it for the small tube of antibiotic ointment that had been sitting there. 

“Yeah, thanks.  You read my mind.”  Dean grinned, pulled the plate into his lap, and took a bite of the sandwich, humming appreciatively.

“So, I figured that now would be a good time to change your dressings.  There really wasn’t a private place to do that at Jody’s.”  I knew it would take a while for Dean to be comfortable with me again so I tried my best to tread lightly.  Dean nodded his assent and slid off his pants to expose the wound.  I sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and began to unwrap the soiled dressings carefully, wary of the still tender line of staples that spiraled up half of his thigh.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your life before all of this?”  Dean hesitated a moment before continuing, “I mean, it’s gotta seem painfully normal compared to monsters.”

I looked up from what I was doing for a moment and assessed what he had asked me.  When I did speak, I measured my words, there were some things I couldn’t risk slipping out.

“I’ve dealt with my share of monsters, that’s for sure.”  I shrugged my shoulders and shot Dean a brief smile – I’m the monster.  “I was certainly never _bored_ while I was in the military.  That was seven long years ago though.”  I finished unwrapping the bandages and stood.  “I’ll be right back; I need some stuff out of my bag.”  I walked down the hall to my room and grabbed my kit off my bed where I had thrown it earlier.  I started to leave the room but paused, thinking about Dean’s question.  I went back towards my bed and crouched down next to it, wincing as pain shot up through my thigh from an old injury.

 There was a small metal box that I kept under my bed, it was locked, and the only key was kept on a thin chain around my neck.  I slid the box out from under the bed, clicked the lock open, and removed the photographs that had been sitting on top of a stack of at least five different passports and emergency money, never mind the Beretta 9mm and its suppressor that was hidden in the false bottom.  I locked the box back up, pushed it back under the bed, stood slowly – painfully – and limped back to Dean’s room, the aching in my leg reminding me of everything I was hiding from the Winchesters.

I stopped at the bathroom on the way back to wash my hands, so when I finally made it back, I entered the room to find Sam leaning against a dresser, talking to his brother and both boys eating their lunch.  I smiled at Sam and handed Dean the stack of pictures before donning latex gloves to clean his wound.  I placed a towel under his leg then opened a fresh bottle of water that had been in my kit.  I used the water to wet down the wound and the area around it, this helped me to create a lather after adding some gentle soap with a piece of gauze.  I carefully cleaned the staples and the surrounding skin then rinsed the area thoroughly with the remaining water.  After patting the wound dry, I applied the antibiotic ointment, clean gauze, and wrapped it all with a fresh bandage. 

While I was working, Dean and Sam had been looking through my pictures, and seemed to be intrigued. 

“Are these your parents?” Sam turned a photograph towards me so I could see it.  I stood up and removed my gloves before taking the picture from him. 

“Yeah,” I said smiling.  I pointed to myself in the middle, “I was 27 when this was taken.  That was our last Christmas together… car accident a couple months later.”  I cleared my throat and handed the picture back to Sam.  “Those others are pictures from the deployments I went on.  Some of me as a kid. Pretty standard nostalgia.”  I laughed half-heartedly trying to change the subject.

“Thanks for showing these to us.”  Dean handed the photographs back to me, “And for dealing with my leg.”

“No problem. I gotta let you guys in at some point, right?” I gathered my things and turned to leave, “You should get some rest boys.  I’m going to shower, get the feeling of travel off of me.”

“I left you a sandwich on the counter, if you’re still hungry.” Sam called after me as I passed through the doorway.

“Thanks Sam!” I called back, heading toward the kitchen and dropping my things off on the way.  I grabbed my food off the counter and took a bite of the sandwich, closing my eyes to appreciate the taste.  I practically inhaled the rest, realizing just how hungry I was. 

Once I finished and had cleaned my mess up, I went back to my room, picked out some clean clothes from my dresser, and made my way to the shower.  I stepped into the large shower room, my steps echoing around me along with the soft staccato of dripping water.  I placed my clothes on a shelf and turned on one of the shower heads, letting the water heat up while I undressed.  I left my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, vowing to myself that I’d pick them up when I finished bathing.

 The water had gotten hot by then and I began to see the room filling with moist, swirling steam.  I stepped under the spray and let the warmth wash over me, soothing the ache in my leg.  I picked up my bottle of shower gel from the floor, where I always kept it, and squeezed some out into my cupped hand.  I lathered it up and started washing.  I ran my fingers over the long, straight scar on my shoulder blade, down to the puckered scar of the bullet that had hit me in the abdomen, and finally massaged my right leg, where one shot had shattered my femur and the other had torn a sizable hole in the side of the leg.  I rinsed the soap from my body, quickly washed my face and hair, then turned off the faucet and reached for my nearby towel. 

I dried the water from my skin and soaked it from my hair before dressing in clean, comfortable clothes and hanging up my wet towel.  I gathered up my dirty laundry and my shoes and padded barefoot back to my room.  I threw my clothes in my laundry basket and scooped the photographs off the bed where I had set them down.  I flipped through them quietly, pausing at a few to remember.  Halfway into the stack, I opened the drawer of my nightstand and threw the pictures in, slamming the drawer behind them.

“That’s more than enough memories for one day.”  I whispered, my words evaporating into the empty room.


	7. The Benefits of Inhibitions

Three weeks went by before Dean was fully operational again.  After ten days of closely watching for infection, I removed the staples from his leg and started him on some mild muscle therapy to build back his strength.  The wound had healed well and wasn’t too terrible to begin with so it didn’t take much to get him back on his feet.  Cabin fever had settled in though; I refused to let Dean leave the bunker until he was back to feeling one hundred percent.  When I finally did give him the ‘all clear’, Dean celebrated by hitting the town to find himself some tail.

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to come?” Dean paused at the bottom of the main stairwell, eager to leave.

“No thanks, Dean.  I’m gonna stay here and find us a case to get you back into the swing of things.”  Sam glanced over at me and chuckled lightly, “If he’s cleared for action, that is.”

“What are you talking about, man, I’m good to go.  See?”  Dean grinned widely and bent at the knee a couple times, showing his apparent range of motion, “What about you, Doc? Wanna come out with me, maybe find yourself a nice guy to give you some action.”  He raised his eyebrows suggestively, never losing his childlike grin.

I lowered the book I had been skimming and looked at him over the rim of my reading glasses, rather unamused.

“You should know by now that I don’t enjoy those loud, seedy bars, Dean.  Besides, you don’t want me to go with you, I’d scare off all the ladies if they thought I was your girlfriend.”  I shook my head, lifting my book back within eyesight, “You go and have fun.  Sam and I will paint our nails or something.”

Dean shrugged, headed up the stairs, and hollered ‘goodbye’ before slamming the door behind him.  I looked over at Sam and rolled my eyes.  He smiled back at me and laughed softly, somewhat to himself.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen, “we’ll have our own fun.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him quizzically, but got up, set my book down, and followed him to the kitchen.  I stepped down into the industrial style room and Sam beamed at me proudly, gesturing to the counter top.  He had prepared a small spread of different types of meats and cheeses along with some crackers and fresh fruit as well.

“What’s all this for, Sam?”  I walked over to the counter and tentatively picked up a strawberry.  I glanced at Sam and he nodded encouragingly, I smiled and took a bite.  I relished the sweet, tart taste as memories flooded in of sunny summer days and simpler times.

“This is just a relaxing night in, to thank you for putting up with us.  I overheard you telling Dean that your favorite part about traveling abroad were the cheese trays after dinner, so I replicated it.”  Sam was always so genuine, so kind.  You could just see it in his eyes how eager he was to please.  He could also be scary, intimidating, dangerous, but I never really had to see that side of him.  I could feel my face heat up, my stomach turning flips – guilt setting in.  Damn these two were making it hard to keep secrets. 

Dean had spent the past three weeks sharing his life, his family, all of his mistakes and failures throughout the years.  We had gotten closer than I’d been to anyone since my parents died.  I had felt terrible keeping so much of my life under wraps, but I reasoned that what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  Now, I had Sam going out of his way for me too.  Fuck it all.

“Sam, you know you didn’t have to do this.  If anything, you guys have to put up with _me_ ,” I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed, “I mean, you took me in, gave me a place here, you let me into your crazy world… all I do is stitch up the hard to reach spots and brew terrible coffee.  Besides, you told Dean you were searching for a case.” 

Sam just shook his head at me, ignoring my attempt at humility and avoidance.  He walked over to the pantry and took out a two dusty bottle of red wine with no label other than a tag around the neck stating, ‘Germany, 1960’.  He set the bottles on the counter and took two glasses from one of the cabinets.

“I found a case a few hours ago.  Don’t feel too pampered, because this all comes at a price,” Sam said, searching for the corkscrew.

“Is the price getting drunk over really old wine?” I picked up one of the bottles to take a closer look, “Where did these come from anyway?

“I found them in the back of the pantry, I guess the one thing this place doesn’t have is a wine cellar.”

I laughed softly, “Sam, come on, you know I don’t drink, I’m a lightweight.  Two glasses of this and I’ll be… I don’t know, dancing on the tables in the library.”  I leaned on the counter and placed a slice of cheese on a buttery-looking cracker that I promptly popped into my mouth.

“You just have to relax and answer all of my intimate, pressing questions.”  Sam grinned, handing me a glass of wine, deep and rich as the color of spilled blood…no, don’t think of that right now.  I took the glass from him, shaking my head in slight exasperation, but smiling nonetheless.

“Alright, I’ll humor you.  But I’m not responsible for what I say when I’ve got alcohol in my system.” I cringed inwardly, not knowing what Sam would try to draw out of me.  He grabbed the tray of food and told me to bring the wine.  I followed Sam back out to the library and we sat down at the table.  The room was surprisingly warm and inviting for being in a bunker; it was a pleasanter, more comfortable environment than the cold steel fixtures of the kitchen that were practical, but lacked in homeliness.  

I slid a chair back from the table, wiggled myself into a comfortable position, and propped my feet up onto the table, taking a small sip from my glass.  Sam took a seat next to me took a few morsels from the tray before engaging in his interrogation.

“So,” He started, taking a drink from his own glass, “What made you decide to get into medicine?”

I sighed, “Oh please.  You know the answer to that, I wanted to help people.  Skip to the good stuff.”

Sam laughed at that and rubbed his chin with his palm before pushing his hair away from his face, “Alright then, favorite book, food, and movie.  Go.”

I threw my head back and opened my mouth to laugh, “See, now you’re getting to the difficult questions, Sam.  _Pride and Prejudice,_ mac ’n cheese with hot sauce, and _Jaws_.”

“You put hot sauce in your macaroni?”  Sam crinkled his nose at the idea.

“You don’t?  Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, buddy boy.”

“Alright, alright.  Best childhood memory?”

“Well, for my fourth birthday, my mom baked this beautiful red velvet cake…”

Sam and I carried on for hours, sharing stories, recalling where we were during major world events, talking about food and music and our first dates.  We talked and laughed until we had finished a bottle and a half of the wine and there was nothing left to the tray but crumbs and a sad, sparse grapevine.  I was content, the happiest I’d been in ages, all because of the shaggy-haired, hazel-eyed, mountain of a man that sat before me, whose lips were starting to look really damn kissable.

“Why did you decide to leave Florida to travel with us?”  Sam was leaning back a bit in his chair, a tad closer to me than when we had first sat down.

“Um…” My brain had become a bit fuzzy and I struggled to remember all of my lies, “I was alone for so long, you know?  No family left, soul-killing day job.  I wanted a change, I can’t live without excitement.” I paused for a moment and smiled into the empty glass I held in my lap, “You guys are sorta like my family now, I missed that feeling.”  I glanced up at Sam and saw him rather intently watching me speak.  He had leaned forward in his seat and his gaze met mine as I stopped talking. Damn those eyes were pretty.

I couldn’t help myself any longer.  I stood and closed the gap between us, placing my knee on the chair beside his leg and taking his face between my hands.  I pressed my wine-drenched lips to his, softly – tenderly.  I could have stayed like that forever, but the gentle feeling of Sam’s hand, barely touching the small of my back, snapped me back to reality.  I pulled away from him, searching his face for a moment.  Confusion, confliction, longing, all plastered across it.  I brought my hand to my mouth quickly, as if confirming the kiss was real.

“I…I’m so sorry, Sam.  I told you I shouldn’t drink.”

Before he could speak, I took off down the hall towards my room.  I slammed the door behind me and ran both hands violently through my hair.

“Damn it!” I cursed to myself, “Such a fucking idiot.”  I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the night, figuring that I’d be better able to handle the situation with a clear head in the morning.

\-------

It was only a short time later that Dean returned home to find Sam in the kitchen, washing the dishes that I had abandoned with him.  Sam barely looked up at his brother as Dean leaned against the counter next to him.

“Strike out tonight, Dean?”

“I chatted up a few ladies, but I decided I’d rather be here with my baby brother and the…Doc.  Where is she?”

“She went to bed.” Sam’s answer was cold and succinct.

“Already? Isn’t she like a night owl or something?” Dean paused, raising his eyebrows at his brother, “What’d you do wrong?”

“She kissed me.”

“What?  Did you tell her you weren’t interested or something?”

“No!  She just...kissed me, then apologized and ran off.”

Dean shrugged and shook his head, “I don’t know, man.  I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”  Dean patted his brother on the shoulder then started for his room, “I’m going to bed, Sammy. Goodnight.”

“Night, Dean.”


	8. When Shit Hit the Fan: Part 1

I woke up on top of my disheveled covers, still fully dressed, and no doubt with black smudges around my eyes from not washing my face the night before.  I rolled onto my back, my feet hanging off the side of the bed, and groaned as my head started to throb.

“I didn’t even fucking drink that much,” I whined weakly to the empty, concrete room, psyching myself up to get out of bed.  I was able to sit up slowly, propping up first on my elbow, then up to my hand, then vertical – which was understandably hard, because it felt like I’d slammed my head in a door.  My hands felt tight and my face was puffy, my mouth still tasted like wine and I’m sure my breath was atrocious.  I rubbed my tired eyes and glanced up at the clock on my nightstand.  The large, bright digital numbers seemed to flash at me mockingly – 5:00 a.m.  I groaned again and nearly succumbed to my bed, but I still possessed some restraint – the idea of being up before Sam, being able to avoid him for a while longer, well that was just too tantalizing to pass up.

I shoved myself off of the side of the bed walked over to my dresser and pulled out some running gear, craving the feel of fresh clothes on my skin.  I peeled off all of the old layers, jeans, sweater, long sleeve shirt, tank top… so many damn layers; I got stuck in my shirts a few times, my arms were heavy and the muscles protested every movement with exhaustion.  

I finally was able to slide on some full length compression pants, the only thing that allowed me to run with my injuries, and a long sleeve top.  I covered tight clothes with sweatpants and a high collared thermal pullover.  I weaved my hair back into a tight braid and tucked the ends under, securing them with a few pins.  I had to dig through several drawers, but eventually found a thick beanie that I shoved in my pocket for later.  I slipped on my running shoes and laced them up snugly before creeping out into the hall and making my way to the bathroom.  I quickly washed my face, brushed my teeth, and sneaked out of the bunker without anyone knowing.

The morning was still dark; the sun hadn’t quite risen, but a pale light reflected off the snow that blanketed everything.  The birds whistled and sang brightly, welcoming the new day and fluttering between the leaf-barren tree branches.  I closed my eyes and listened for a moment to the soft symphony, each note crisp and peaceful, a performance just for me.  Eventually the birds hushed and I set off at a jog, the dense, bitter snow crunching harshly beneath my feet and the still, cold air burning in my throat and lungs

About a mile into my run, I felt a presence behind me, something menacing, that I couldn’t seem to shake.  I had made my way into a residential area, so it wasn’t uncommon that a car would pass me every so often, someone on their way into work, but as I glanced over my right shoulder, I noticed a black SUV with deeply tinted windows that was travelling at half the posted speed limit.  Red flag.  I felt my heart rate climbing and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.  I kept my pace, trying not to let on that I was aware of my shadow, and started taking slow, even breaths, telling myself to keep a cool head, just breathe.  I continued down the street, all the while searching for a good place to try to ditch the vehicle. 

On my left, about 50 feet ahead, there was a small cul-de-sac with four or five houses tightly bunched around the circular drive.  I headed in that direction, making my way around the circle, watching as the SUV began creeping up on my right side.  The vehicle was almost even with me when I ducked quickly between two houses that were backed by dense woods and took off in a sprint toward the brush.  Behind me, I heard the squeal of tires and the slamming of car doors, followed by three sets of frantic footsteps and the zip of some projectile about a foot from my head.  I turned slightly and saw a man lining up another shot…

“Nyet, nyet!”  Russian.  Then thickly accented English, “Let her go, we’ll find her again.”

I didn’t wait around to see them leave, just kept running through the woods, praying that I’d pop out in an area close to the bunker.  It felt like it took an eternity, but I eventually made it back, aching, panting, close to tears at the sight of the ugly metal door.  I slipped inside the building as fast as I could, slamming the door behind me. 

Leaning back against the door, I breathed hard, my lungs were on fire and I couldn’t help but screw up my face in agony.  This was very bad. My mind started racing, trying to figure out how I could’ve been found; I sifted through every moment after leaving Florida – was it the Wendigo case?  Or did they find Jody?  Oh God, help me.  Shit was going downhill, fast.

The sound of the door slamming had apparently woken Sam and Dean because they came running into the foyer beneath the stairs, guns drawn, looking barely lucid.  I peered over the landing, where I was standing, and called out to them.

“It’s alright boys, just me.  Sorry I woke you.”  I had evened out my breathing by then, making it safe for the brothers to see me.  I descended the stairwell and met them at the bottom, trying my best to appear invigorated from my run and not scared out of my mind.  I smiled at the brothers, wiping sweat from under my nose and pulling the hat off my head.

“We heard the door and thought somebody had gotten in.  I checked your room and you weren’t there.  I…we were worried.”  Sam seemed concerned, a tad flustered, and still very much conflicted.  I ignored the emotions flashing across his face, it was all I could do at that point; I had far more pressing matters to deal with.  My life was at stake, their lives were at stake, if I didn’t figure out what the hell was going on; I didn’t have the patience to deal with an ill-timed crush.

“No, I just…I was up really early and couldn’t get back to sleep.  Plus, all the wine last night…I needed that out of my system.”

“Wine?  Damn Sammy, you really went all out.” 

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam mumbled, his jaw clenched.

Dean grinned cheekily at his brother, slapping him on the shoulder, “Were you _trying_  to get her drunk?”

I glanced at Sam, he was clearly embarrassed and feeling guilty – Dean, of course, was not helping. 

“Struck out last night, huh Dean?” I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

“Pfft. No.” He scowled, his pride clearly singed.  He abandoned the idea of picking on his brother and made his way out of the room, toward the kitchen, disgruntledly mumbling, “I’m gonna make breakfast.”

Sam and I remained awkwardly in the foyer for what seemed like forever, not really meeting each other’s eyes.  Sam eventually cleared his throat and gestured after Dean.

“I should probably go help him with the food, we have to get on the road soon, it’ll go quicker if I help.”  He began to walk off, his bare feet quietly thudding on the hard floors.

“Sam! I…” Hearing my voice, he paused and turned to face me, “I’m gonna take a shower.”  Fuck. That’s _not_ what I wanted to say.  He nodded tersely and continued down the hall, leaving me alone in the echo-y room.


	9. When Shit Hit the Fan: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all my lovely readers! If you've stuck with the story until now, I appreciate your patience with me. I'm sorry this chapter took so incredibly long to post, but it's here now! College, doctors appointments, and an unruly cat gave me some serious writer's block for awhile. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter (and the ones that follow).

I spent ten minutes in the shower rinsing the sweat from my body and hair, combing through the tangles with trembling fingers.  I pressed my hand against the wall and leaned heavily on it, using the other to turn off the tap.

“I thought I was _out_.” The words escaped through gritted teeth as I hammered the palm of my hand against the tiled wall.

  I stood there for a moment, not really thinking about anything, but allowing my emotions to settle into a state of acceptance.  I grabbed my towel off its hook and shook my hair dry before soaking up the stray water droplets that rolled down my skin. 

I dressed quickly – jeans, belt, leather boots, turtleneck – then made my way to my room to pack a bag for the trip.  Once there, I brushed through my wet hair, tied it into a high ponytail, then wrapped the hair around into a tight, neat bun at the back of my head and pinned it in place.  I threw a week’s worth of socks, underwear, shirts, and an extra pair of jeans – into my duffel and tossed in my toiletry bag last. 

I slid into my shoulder holster, something else I had kept from the boys, and knelt down to retrieve my Beretta from its hiding place; I exchanged it with my .45, took around five hundred dollars from my stash, and locked the box back up, nudging it under the bed when I finished.  I holstered the Beretta and picked up a hip-length wool coat for the bracing weather outside.  I took my duffel and left the room, making my way into the kitchen to eat breakfast with the boys.

“What’s with the shoulder holster?”  Dean turned and raised an eyebrow at me as I stepped down into the kitchen where he and Sam had been slaving away over the stove.

“Like it?”  I spun in a slow circle letting both Sam and Dean get a good look, “It’s new.  Just for hunts.”  Another lie; I’d had it since the beginning, it’d been a constant companion on many dangerous escapades.

Dean nodded approvingly, “Not that you’re hunting anything…but, it’s nice, very ‘Femme Nikita’.”

“You have no idea…” I muttered softly under my breath, preparing a plate of eggs and bacon for myself and sitting down at the table to eat.  Sam and Dean joined me at the table shortly after, tucking in to their breakfasts quietly.

“So, Sammy, what’s this case that you found?” Dean looked up at his brother expectantly, taking a bite of his eggs.

“Broken Bow, Nebraska. There’s been a string of deaths all along the same stretch of road for the past three months.  One of the victims was on the phone with his brother right before the incident and he said he saw a young woman standing by the side of the road.”

“So, are we thinking woman in white?”

“Yeah, it seems like it, but we won’t know for sure until we get there.”  Sam stood and began to clear his plate and clean up the mess from breakfast.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry? It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour drive,” I scoffed, opening my mouth for a bite of bacon.

“We should really get this over with before anyone else dies, don’t you think?” Sam looked over his shoulder at me, a sort of hardness reflected in his eyes, a sharpness to his words.  He had, in fact put me back in my place though.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I mumbled softly, “Well, I’m ready to go when you guys are.”

Dean scraped up the last bite from his breakfast and slid his empty plate toward me.

“Great,” He grinned widely and shot me a wink, “You and Sam can clean up breakfast.”

I glared at Dean as he left to get ready, but stood and cleared the plates from the table, bringing them to Sam, who was stationed at the sink, soap and dish cloth at the ready.  There were many mornings that had passed this way before.  I cleaned the table, the counter, put away leftover food, while Sam washed and rinsed the dishes, setting them aside.  I would then stand next to him in silent companionship and take a clean, dry towel to the freshly washed dishes that were always still warm under my fingers from the hot water.  By the time I was finished drying, he would have already started putting things neatly away, everything in its place and I would join him, both of us weaving around each other in perfect patterns, effortlessly accomplishing the task.  It never took us long to clean; we had perfect system that always just fell into place.  It was how I imagined Dean and Sam to operate on a hunt: smooth, efficient, perfect killers.

This morning was not like the others.  I was always standing just a bit too close to Sam; his elbow would bump me while he was washing, or I’d accidentally hit him with a cabinet door.  At one point, we ran into each other, almost dropping whatever we had in our hands.  Sam smiled at that and actually let out a small chuckle – it was short lived – as I smiled up at him, I saw his expression morph back to that distant, melancholy look he’d had before.  What a disaster this was.

We finally got on the road, the three of us packed inside the Impala, cruising down the US-281 N on our way to Nebraska.  With Dean’s leg being better, I was stuck in the back again, but I used it to my advantage; I laid down in the seat to hide myself from anyone that might happen to be following us.  This bore heavy on my mind the entire two and a half hours; I was constantly glancing out the windows, searching for any trace of the SUV that had been following me that morning.

            Dean finally pulled the Impala up to the “Moonlight Motel”, a brownish, squat, dusty looking building, and sent Sam in to book us a room.   A.C. units were rigged up in each window, the numbers affixed to the doors hung at odd angles – was that room 36 or 39?  Who knew at this point?  An older man sat behind the front desk reading that day’s newspaper in a wife-beater and slacks with suspenders, engulfed in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke that he sucked down deep into his lungs with every drag from his cigarette.  He had no doubt peered over the rim of his glassed and asked Sam whether or not he was paying by the hour before making the money-for-key exchange and reminding Sam to ‘enjoy his stay’.

            Sam sauntered back to the car, dangling the key out in front of him and gesturing to the room in front of us.  He opened the room’s door while Dean and I slid out of the car and walked around to grab our bags from the trunk of the Impala.  Dean opened the trunk and handed me my duffel before grabbing Sam’s and his own from the aged, carpeted interior that hid an arsenal beneath it.  The lid screeched and clanged metallically as Dean pushed it shut, eyeing me pointedly.

            “You two,” he gestured toward the open doorway of the room that Sam had walked into, “need to figure it out.  It’s like you too had a one-night stand and Sam’s the chick that’s waiting around for you to call.”

            I rolled my eyes at him and shrugged, “Dean it was just a ki…”

            “Not to him.  Doc, he’s had eyes for you since that night you patched up my leg.  Now, you either tell him that you’re interested too, or you give it to him straight so he can move on…and _I_ can stop feeling like the awkward third wheel.”

            I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded weakly and followed Dean into the motel room, closing the creaky door behind me.  Neither one of us noticed the dark SUV that had maneuvered itself into the parking lot across the street, overlooking the front of the motel.

           


	10. The Gum on my Shoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the thick of it now folks! Okay, so I've been procrastinating on this chapter a lot because so much had to happen all at once and writing it all was a struggle. As many times as I read through it, there might still be some typographical errors, so bear with me. Thank you for reading - Enjoy!

            There were still several hours before nightfall, which was prime time for the ghost, so Sam and Dean couldn’t do much else but change into their Fed suits and head out to question the family members of the men that had disappeared.  Since there was no inherent danger in grilling blubbing housewives for information, I tagged along with the brothers in my official capacity as “grief counselor”. 

            The home of Irma Witten was a small, white-paneled two-story that sat back from the road just far enough to have a pretty, green lawn and a large maple tree, surrounded by a 3ft. tall picket fence.  A concrete path led to the front door which, along with the shutters, was painted a dusky blue that matched the shingles on the roof.  Irma herself was puttering around her yard, yanking weeds from the grass and trimming what appeared to be a rather healthy hydrangea bush.

            “So here’s the deal.  Sam and I will do the talking and you just… I don’t know, pat her on the shoulder if she cries.”

            I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, stewing at Dean from the backseat.  “Yeah, yeah, Dean.  I got it, I’ve done this with you guys before, you know.”

            “Yeah? Last time you laughed at the girl!”

            I grinned, remembering the incident, “What can I say, Dean?  Everybody grieves differently.”

            “You weren’t the one grieving!” The last time I heard that tone from Sam was when Dean switched his toothpaste for Preparation-H.  I made a face and stuck my tongue out at him; I could’ve sworn I saw the tiniest smile.

            “Oh come on, what is this?  Are you five?”  Dean was getting impatient.

            “Give or take thirty years.”  I quipped, smirking at him.

            “Let’s go before I drop you off at a daycare center.”

            The three of us stepped out of the car and made our way up the path to talk with Irma.  After our initial introductions, the aging woman invited us into her home and we all had a seat on the crinkly, plastic-wrapped couches in her living room.

            “So Irma,” Sam started, “did you notice anything strange on the night your husband disappeared?”

            “Well, no…” Irma crossed her legs and smoothed her blouse awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. “He was always out late, chasing younger women.  Clive was a real ladies’ man at the bingo nights – spent a lot of time flirting with Susanne Greenly.  She’s only fifty-three.  So, when he disappeared, I just thought he’d finally run off with her.”  Irma scoffed, bringing her hand up to toy with her necklace absentmindedly.

            Dean chuckled softly, “And, uh, how old is Clive?”

            “Oh he’s sixty-five.”

            I raised my eyebrows and fought back a grin as I caught Dean’s admonishing glance.  I put my hands up slightly in mock capitulation and turned my attention back to Irma.

            “I got the old fart back though,” Irma smiled knowingly, a glint in her eye, “I started messing around with Kyle.”

            “Kyle?” Sam lifted an eyebrow, prompting her for more information.

            “He’s the pool-boy – well, not really a boy anymore…” 

            “But you don’t have a pool.”

            “No, but the house next door does.”  Irma eyed Dean suggestively and leaned forward a bit to briefly stroke his knee, “you know Agent, you remind me of a more… _mature_ version of Kyle.”

            Dean’s face reddened and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, smiling nervously. “Well, I think we’ve got all the information we need, thank you Mrs. Witten, for your time.”

            “Oh! Please stay!  I’ve just brewed some fresh sweet-tea.”

            Dean stood and started backing toward the door, but Sam and I stayed seated, enjoying the spectacle.

            “I’d love some tea.” Sam smiled at Irma then flashed a mischievous grin at his brother.

            I was about to go along with Sam, but I glanced out the window, just for a second, and felt my body go cold.  I saw the SUV drive slowly past the house, no doubt having seen the Impala parked in front.  How the hell did they find me?

            “Actually Irma, you’ve been a lovely host, but we can’t stay.” I stood and touched her gently on the arm, “If you need anything, please let us know; you have the Agents’ number.”

            Sam finally stood and followed me and Dean out the front door, breaking into laughter as soon as Irma clicked the latch behind us.  

            “You should’ve gone for it Dean; I think she liked you.” Sam patted his brother on the shoulder, smiling widely.

            Dean shuddered at the thought, “Sammy – shut up.”

            We all loaded back up in the Impala and pulled away from the white house, leaving cougar-lady behind.  As soon as we turned out of the neighborhood, I looked out of the rear window to see the sinister vehicle trailing us again.  They weren’t exactly inconspicuous in their super-upgraded boat of a vehicle, but then again, neither were we.

            “Hey Dean, can we stop to get a bite to eat?  I’m starving back here.”

            “Yeah, there was a diner a few minutes up the road.”

            “Another diner?  Can’t we go to an actual restaurant every once in a while to get some food that doesn’t have grease as the main ingredient?”  Damn it, Sam.  We have a dangerous tail.  Stop complaining.

            “I need food quick, guys.  My stomach is eating itself.” I whined, hoping for some sympathy.  Come on.  Diner, go to the diner.

            “Alright then, diner it is.  But hey, Sammy, I can stop and let you out if you want.”

            “Shut up, Dean.”

            “Come on, don’t be a pouter.”

            We parked in front of the diner, went in, and found an empty table that was relatively close to the bathroom – not great for regular dining, but perfect if I needed an escape route.  I just hoped there was a window in there.  I made a point to sit on the outside of the booth this time, so I could slide out easily if they came for me.  _When_ they came for me.

            Only a few, short minutes passed before the SUV pulled up to the front of the restaurant and two men stepped out – the same ones who had shot at me earlier that morning.  They walked into the building and found a table about 30 feet away from where we were sitting, positioned so that one of them could see me at all times.  The one that was staring at me intently was about average height, had an athletic build, wild eyes, and oozed “unfriendly”, but maybe that’s because he was trying to kill me; fighting him off shouldn’t be all that difficult.  The other one though… he was like the Paul Bunyan of hired goons.  Tall, broad shouldered, muscular – looked like a Sergei or a Viktor.  He shifted and I saw what looked like a child’s toy teacup in his hand; it took a minute before I realized that it was a regular sized coffee cup.  Oh yeah, I’ll have to shoot this one.

            “Boys, there’s something I have to tell you.”  I wrung my hands, feeling nervous sweat bead up on my palms, and took off my coat, placing it in the seat beside me.

            “What is it?”  Sam looked over at me and furrowed his brow, clearly having noticed my fidgeting.

            “I’m not exactly who you think I am.  I haven’t told you everything…”  I spoke breathlessly as my heart began to race.  I glanced quickly at the brothers then back at my pursuers.  Crazy Eyes stood up, gaze locked on me.

            “What are you talking about, Doc?” Dean’s turn to look concerned.

Crazy Eyes started walking toward me, followed closely by Paul Bunyan.

            “It’s too late.”  I slid quickly out of the booth and walked purposefully to the women’s bathroom.  I swung open the door and scanned the room – stalls, sinks…there – a window above one of the sinks.  It would be a squeeze, but I could fit.  I went into one of the stalls, stepped up on the toilet seat and brought my heel down heavily upon the toilet paper dispenser.  Once it broke open, I grabbed out two rolls and shoved them in the hinge of the bathroom door.  That should buy me a little time. 

            I heard banging against the door and a scuffle outside from what I hoped was an interception by Sam and Dean.  I climbed up onto the sink, hearing it creak beneath my weight, and opened the window above, pushing it up and away from the frame.  I leaned out a bit and shoved hard on the open part of the window, splintering the wood frame from its hinges, not bothering about the glass that shattered below as the window fell.  I hefted myself up through the opening and began working my way out.

            I had just gotten my upper body through when I heard the door slam open and felt someone grab my ankle.  I kicked out forcefully with my other foot, desperately hoping that it would make contact with my assailant.  Preferably his face. 

            I heard a hard smack and felt the grasp leave my ankle, shortly followed by Sam’s urgent voice, telling me to run.  I needed no second bidding as I squirmed my way out of the bathroom, hanging briefly from the window sill before dropping down to the ground, shards of glass crunching beneath my feet as my boots made contact.  Off in the distance, I heard the horn of a freight train that was chugging its way into the small town.  I remembered seeing the tracks earlier and took off running in that direction, praying that I’d make it before the train went by.

\----- 

            Back at the diner, Dean was sitting against a wall, slumped over and unconscious after losing his scrap with Paul Bunyan.  Sam was still in the bathroom, throwing punches with Crazy Eyes until he drew his gun, levelling it with Sam’s head.

“Who are you?” Sam panted, tired from the fight, and lifted his hands

“No one that you need concern yourself with.”

“What do you want with our friend?”

“Your friend?” Crazy Eyes laughed, the evil orbs in his skull squinting as his ugly smile widened. “You should be more careful; she is dangerous company that you keep.  That woman is a killer; she is no one’s friend.”

“And you? Why are you trying to kill her?”  Sam was stalling now, giving me more time to get away.

“Boss says kill her, I kill her.  It’s some unfinished business.  Speaking of which, I have to catch her to kill her, da?  I should be going.  Do svidanya, Mr. Winchester.”  Sam let the man back out of the bathroom and leave the restaurant, followed by his lumbering accomplice.  He watched them climb into their vehicle and leave the parking lot before rushing to his brother’s side and assessing his condition.  He determined that Dean was fine and nudged him awake gently.  Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned, grabbing the side of his head and letting Sam help him up off the ground.

            “What the hell just happened, Sam?” Dean glanced around the diner at the stunned patrons, then up at his brother.

            “I don’t know man, but the Doc took off on foot.  We should try to catch up.”

            Dean nodded his assent and limped out the door, headed for the car.  Sam stayed back a moment, looking around at the restaurant in disarray.  He placed a $50 on the table and picked up my coat from the vinyl of the booth, grasping it tightly as he trudged after his brother.

\----- 

            I was almost to the tracks when I heard the squeal of tires, coming up behind me fast.  My heart pounded frantically in my chest as I ran – leftrightleftrightleftright.  I was parallel to the tracks now.  The train was coming, vibrating the ground, rattling the tracks, its wheels spinning furiously.  Crazy Eyes and Paul Bunyan were out of their vehicle now, lining up their sights with my body.  The horn of the train began screaming at me as the it barreled closer, closer - now!  I jumped across the tracks and rolled away from them as far as I could so the power of the train wouldn’t suck me in as it thundered past.  Bullets that were meant for me pinged off the metal side of the train, sparking as they went.  I saw the Impala pull up near the tracks, but my attackers had already beelined it for their vehicle and sped off to get around the train.

            It felt like an eternity before I was able to pick myself up off the ground and keep running.  There were woods in the distance and I figured that if I could at least get there, my pursuers wouldn’t come traipsing after me.  I pushed on, my legs burning – damn all this running; it was another hour before I popped out on the other side of the woods to find a small, municipal airport that luckily seemed rather quiet.

            I checked the runway for planes before I climbed over the chain-link perimeter fence and headed toward the hangars, skirting the flight line as I went.  I came up on a long row of rounded metal buildings and listened intently for noise.  There were sounds coming from one of the hangars – voices, and some metallic clanging – I followed the noise and found a guy in his late forties, changing the tire on the landing gear of an old Cessna. 

            I walked over to the plane and rapped my knuckles on the fuselage.  “Hey, you got a minute?  I need a ride.”

            The man turned and sized me up, eyeing me lasciviously, “Well, little lady, everything comes with a price.  What’ve you got to offer?”

            I rolled my eyes and drew my weapon, aiming it squarely at his chest, right about where is black heart should be.  “How about… I _don’t_ shoot you and you fly me to Florida.  Sound good?”

            The man’s eyes widened and he nodded vigorously, “Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.”

\----- 

            “What are we gonna do now, Sam?”  Dean sat on the edge of a bed in the motel room taking deep swigs from a bottle of cheap beer.  He brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes, “we don’t even know where she went, I mean, who were those guys anyway?”

            “I don’t know, Dean.” Sam shrugged, pacing the room agitatedly.  He dropped his voice, “They knew who we were.”

            “What? How?”

            “I don’t know, man, but I think Doc is in serious danger.”  Sam paused for a moment, glancing at the bag I had left sitting on the table. 

            “How’d she get caught up in all this anyway, huh?”  Dean stood and walked over to his brother, setting his beer bottle on the table and reaching for my bag.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m gonna find out some more about our little doctor,” Dean opened the bag and began rifling through it, digging under my clothes and unzipping all of the pockets.

            “You seriously think you’re gonna find something?  I doubt she keeps a diary, Dean.”  Sam pulled a chair from under the table and sat down heavily, watching his brother search my things.

            “No, but she does walk around with $500 cash and a newspaper clipping from 2009.” Dean held up the money and the clipping for Sam to see.  Sam took the clipping and began reading it aloud.

            “November 16, 2009.  Ambassador Thomas Redding and wife Susan were found dead this morning at their hotel room in Kiev, after having sustained fatal gunshot wounds.  Authorities speculate that the murders are related to Redding’s involvement with the Ukrainian Government in putting a stop to a major human trafficking ring.  The Ambassador and his wife are survived by their only daughter Catherine…” Sam trailed off as he came to the end of the article; he set the page down and looked up at his brother.  “She told us that her parents died in a car crash.”

            “Yeah, well, obviously not.  So if these guys were supposed to get rid of the family, why wait so long to come for her?”

            “I don’t know, but we have to find her before they do.”

            Dean sighed and shook his head, “No!  For all we know, she got herself into this shit and I’m not about to step in it too.  Besides, there’s still a case here.”

            “Screw the case, Dean!  We’ll call in another hunter; this is more important.”  Sam slid his chair back and stood, packing my things back into my bag and grabbing his own.  “I’m gonna go back to the train tracks, then out to look around that airport.  You can come with me if you want; if not, I’ll meet you back at the bunker.” 

            “Sam wait.”  Dean groaned and scooped up his own bag off the floor. “I’m not letting you go anywhere by yourself.  Not with those goons out there.”  He gestured toward the door. “Let’s go find Doc.”


	11. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I'm so excited about writing the ending to this little story that I get stuck on the way there. As always, I appreciate all of you who are reading this; I hope you enjoy it.

A small café sat back several yards from the flight line, facing the hot asphalt that had warmed from a full day of direct sun.  The building was not much bigger than a double-wide trailer, but was quaint inside with bistro style tables on checkered tile floors and every mint-colored wall spattered with different types of flight memorabilia.  The Winchesters stood in the entryway holding their fake badges in front of a flustered waitress, their hair and clothes gently being tousled by the sad ‘little ceiling fan that could’.

            “Ma’am, we’d like to ask you a few questions about a, uh…missing person.”  Dean slid his badge back into the inner pocket of his jacket, exchanging it for the yellowing, wrinkly newspaper clipping that featured a small, grainy picture of a teenage Catherine Redding and her deceased parents.  “Have you seen this woman at all?”

            The young woman – Jenny, her nametag read – took the photo that was offered to her and brought it up to her face, inspecting it closely and moving her lips, almost imperceptibly, to the words of the news story.

            “I remember when that ambassador and his wife kicked it, but why’re you looking for his daughter in Nebraska?”

“That’s privileged information, Ma’am.  We just need to know if you’ve seen her.”

            Jenny handed the clipping back to Dean and tucked a stray brown ringlet of hair behind her ear thoughtfully, “Well, I did see Billy – he’s one of our mechanics – he took off a couple hours ago.  He still had an hour left on his shift, which is real unusual – he likes to stay late, you know?  Well, when he was taking his Cessna out of the hangar, he had a woman helping him.”

            Sam looked over at his brother, eyebrows raised in secret communication.  “And was it the girl in the picture?”

            The waitress chuckled lightly, shifting her weight to one hip and planting her palm on the other, “That must be an old picture, ‘cause she didn’t look much like an innocent girl anymore…but yeah, that was her.”

            “Jenny, is there any way to know where they were headed? A log book or something?”

            She nodded at Sam and walked through a swinging door that led back to the kitchen and a small office.  Dean turned to his brother after Jenny had gone and made a face; a look of slight disappointment.

            “Was she saying that Doc looked old?” Dean furrowed his brow.

            “I think she just meant that _Catherine_ was a kid in that picture and she’s a grown woman now.  Why does that matter to you?”

            “Because I’m three years older than her.  If she looks old, then imagine how I look.”

            Sam scoffed and shook his head at Dean, adding in an eye roll for good measure.

            “And what’s with this Catherine stuff all of a sudden?  When we first met her, she told us to call her Doc; she wouldn’t even tell you her real name during your little love-in." Dean paused and shook his head, "I thought it was weird at first, but I can see why now…with the crap that happened to her parents and whatever shit she got herself into – I don’t think I’d want people to know who I really was either.”

            “I don’t know, Dean,” Sam shrugged, “I just feel like, now that we know who she really is, we should get used to it.”

            The brothers’ conversation was cut short as Jenny stepped back through the swinging door with a large three-ring binder and set it down on one of the tables.  She flipped through the months to find the current date and ran her finger down the margin, looking for the appropriate time block.

            “Here we go, four o’clock: William Peterson… it looks like they’re going to Florida,” Jenny folded the binder closed and shrugged, “I guess you’ll have to look for her there, Agents.”

            Sam and Dean thanked the young woman for her time and walked out of the café and across the parking lot, toward the Impala.

            “So, what now, Sam?” Dean opened the driver’s side door and climbed into his seat, “This is starting to feel like a wild goose chase and our goose is in Florida right now.”

            “Maybe we should just let her contact us.”  Sam joined his brother in the car and they pulled out of the parking lot, headed back to the motel.

            “I thought you wanted to find her.”

            Sam sighed and made a noncommittal gesture, bringing his hand up slightly then dropping it back in his lap. “I did – I do, but we know she’s alive and where she is…if she wants to come back, at least she’ll know where to find us.  Until then, we should work the case.”

             Dean nodded but stayed quiet, watching Sam as he stared forlornly out of the window.  “What’s with you and chicks, man?”

 -------

            The flight from Broken Bow to Tampa had been cutting it close on fuel, so when the small plane finally landed, it was a major relief.  It certainly didn’t help that the pilot who had “volunteered” to take me to Florida happened to be the most annoying man in the state of Nebraska.  He had sputtered out that his name was Billy and that he, “talked when he was nervous”.  That damn man must have been nervous the entire flight because he hadn’t shut up since we’d left.  There had been several times during the trip that I was tempted to put a bullet in his brain just so he’d be quiet, but then again, who would fly the plane?

            It was dark out as the Cessna bounced down the landing strip, taxied out of the way, and finally came to a stop on a small concrete square, surrounded by other parked planes and situated in front of a hangar that sported the words “Southwest Aero Park” in bold white lettering above the door.  I opened the door on my side of the plane and jumped out onto the wet concrete below, breathing in the smell of a just-passed storm.

            Here it was never crisp and cool, as one would hope for after a heavy rain.  Instead, the air was warm.  Not a pleasant sort of warm that gently caresses the skin, but an oppressive, damp, sticky warmth.  The kind of warmth that makes the air so thick that it’s almost impossible to get a full breath.  Even worse was the stillness.  The air seemed to just sit.  Heavy and thick, pressing insistently on everything below it, as if to crush it flat against the hot earth.

            I turned my attention back to Billy as he stumbled out of his own aircraft and began to groan at the stifling heat, tugging the hem of his shirt up and down frantically, trying to force cool air onto his skin.

            I rolled my eyes and laughed at him inwardly, “Thanks for the ride, William.  It’s been a real _blast_ ,” I took a few steps toward him and offered him my hand to shake.  He took my hand in his hesitantly and shot me a nervous smile as he realized I wasn’t going to immediately let go.

            “N-n-no problem, l-lady. Happy to oblige.”  He gently tried jerking his hand away from my firm grip, but I yanked him toward me and brought my mouth just inches from his ear.

            “Now William,” I whispered to him menacingly, “no one is to know about our little trip here, capisce?  If I find out that you’ve been blabbing that motor-mouth of yours, I will hunt you down and you will go from Billy to Becky, real damn quick.” I released his arm and took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest, “Now, in the morning you’re gonna fly home and tell your wife that you love her, and that you had to stay late working on a plane that you just _had_ to finish.”

            The man nodded at me fearfully and retreated back to his plane, no doubt to retrieve his phone and find a place to stay for the night.  I let him be and crept off to a small, metal storage shed that stood unassumingly behind the hangar.  The only thing different about it than any other shed was the 9-digit key pad situated to the side of the door.  I punched in my code and entered the shed, securing the door behind me before wading my way around cardboard boxes filled with the former life of Catherine Redding.  I made my way to the center of the room and knelt down to open the hatch that was fitted into the concrete flooring of the shed.  The metal door opened with a creak and a puff of dust and I descended down a ladder, into the darkness below, pulling the hatch closed above me.


	12. Origins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had to make a slight change to one of the other chapters because my time-line was all screwy. The Doc's parents died in 2009, not 1999. That all happened because of a wee-bitty mathematical error :-) There's a reason I'm a language major and not a math major, folks. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

_November 20, 2009_

_Dark, heavy clouds loomed forebodingly overhead, weaving their way through the rooftops of stately buildings that lined quiet, empty streets.  This was a somber day.  A long line of black sedans marked with government plates and flanked by crisply painted cop cars rolled glacially down the streets of a city-turned-ghost town, occasionally reflecting the brief flashes of blue and red from the lights of their escort.  I sat in one of those dark sarcophagi, following the hearse that carried the lifeless bodies of my once-vibrant parents._

_To my left, sat my fiancé, David, who had placed his hand gently over mine and was stroking the back of it with his thumb, in a vain attempt to be reassuring.  I stared out the window numbly, willing the first droplets of rain to crash to earth – maybe I’d roll down my window and let one hit me; I’d wake up and this would all be a terrible dream…_

_“Catherine.”  I vaguely heard David’s voice. “Catherine!  Earth to Rina…”_

_Hearing my childhood name caused me to snap back into myself and I jerked my hand away from him, lacing my fingers and placing my hands safely in my lap._

_“Don’t call me that, David.”  I turned my gaze back out the window, avoiding what I knew would be a ‘kicked-puppy’ look on his face._

_“Fine,” he sighed, “but can you at least talk to me?  You’ve been silent since you got back…I mean, I get it.  I do, but I’m here for you and I need you to let me help you.”_

_I looked over at him and smiled – a cruel smile, letting my pent-up rage ooze out of my pores.  “And what would you do, David? Hmm? Are you going to bring them back? Are you going to find the motherfuckers that did this and make them pay for it? No? Then keep your fucking sympathy to yourself.”_

_“What the hell, Catherine!  I’m trying to be supportive; I’m trying to help you grieve.  I’m your fiancé for fuck’s sake!  You’re treating me like shit.  You aren’t even wearing your engagement ring…”_

_I was staring out the window again, I couldn’t look at David when he was emotional.  The crestfallen look he got always made him look weak, pitiful; he never stood up to me when I started slicing him up with my sharp tongue._

_“I was on a deployment.” I softened my tone and turned to look at him, “you know I don’t wear jewelry when I ship out.  It’s a safety hazard and the ring could get damaged.”_

_“Whatever, Catherine.”  It was David’s turn to stare out the window, deep in thought.  We both stayed quiet the rest of the way, rolling along languidly until the procession turned onto the drive that twisted its way through the cemetery._

_David and I both exited the car, making our way to the towards the crowd of somber faces that were gathered around the two large openings in the earth beneath us that would swallow up what remained of my family; the cold, dark ground claiming them as its own with the Priest’s words of finality: “Till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”_

_I did not weep as my parents were lowered into the ground.  I did not shake or sob like the others who were there; like everyone expected me too.  I patiently endured the sympathetic gazes and the warm hand of my fiancé resting on my shoulder until the service was over.  Gradually people left, returning to their lives, thankful that it wasn’t their parents who had been murdered.  I remained, long after they were gone, waiting for the rain._

_Thunder rumbled through my chest and I closed my eyes, tilting my face up to the sky as the first, fat droplets came falling from the gray clouds above.  The sky opened up, letting loose a torrent of water that soaked my hair and clothes and the soft, green ground beneath me.  I stayed until I was drenched, until my makeup had smeared from the raindrops that collected on my eyelashes, until all the warmth had left my body and all I could see was the condensation from my breath.  I stayed until I was absolutely sure that I was awake; that it wasn’t just a bad dream.   But the rain had come; they were still dead and I was soaked._

 

Present Day

            I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling of my small bunker.  I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the twin bed I had been sleeping on, pausing to rub the sleep from the corners of my eyes.  An array of computer screens was situated on a desk in the corner, I walked over to it and leaned over it, typing in my password and pulling up my email.  I typed up a quick note to let Sam and Dean know I was okay and hit ‘send’. 

            I spent the rest of the morning puttering around barefoot, putting my bed to rights and reacquainting myself with the world I thought that I had abandoned. As I cleaned, I thought back to that day in the rain and how later that night, alone in the huge empty house that I had grown up in, I had gotten myself completely plastered and ended up on the kitchen floor, curled up in the fetal position around a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

            I vaguely remember being hauled up off the floor by a sturdy Ukrainian woman named Aneta, who had been our housekeeper, cook, nanny – I had known her all my life.  She helped me into bathtub, clothes and all, and turned on the showerhead.  I had jolted to life with the shock of the cold water and promptly leaned over the toilet, heaving up the contents of my stomach.

            Aneta had tsk-ed at me, gotten me cleaned up, and fixed me a greasy breakfast before sitting me down on the couch, folding her hands neatly in her lap, and eyeing me expectantly while I slowly picked through my food.

            _“So, have you thought about it?”_

_“Thought about what?”  My head was still throbbing, I wasn’t in the mood to solve a puzzle._

_“How you’re going to find them.”  Aneta pursed her lips and relaxed back into the chair she was occupying.  “The ones who killed your parents.”_

_I had been bringing my fork up to my mouth, but stopped halfway, mouth agape.  “What are you talking about, Aneta?”  I faltered a bit, wondering how much she knew._

_“Oh please, Ekaterina.  I’ve known you since you were a little girl.  You could never leave anything unfinished.”  She laughed a bit, shaking her head at me.  “I saw you looking into your father’s files days ago, I know you already have a plan.  Let me help.”_

_I sat back in my seat, not really sure what to say.  “Well then, I can’t, you know…be me anymore.  I’ll have to change who I am, become ambiguous.  I’ll have to disappear.”_

_Aneta smiled knowingly and took out a pad of paper and a pen, “That can be arranged, my dear.  Now, what’s first…”_

            I smiled, thinking back on the memory.  That’s how it had all begun.  That was the day Catherine Redding, the medic, died and I became something new, something scary…an assassin.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ekaterina is the Eastern European version of Catherine, by the way. In case anyone was a bit confused about the name variations going on here.


	13. What's Wrong with a Little Mystery?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our fearless little assassin reacquaints herself with the tools of her trade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not forgotten you, my wonderful readers! This chapter was a real pain to finish and I know it SEEMS like the story is dragging on, but please, please stick with it - the exciting stuff is on the way, I wholeheartedly promise. I even have the ending to this escapade written, it's just getting there that's the hard part. As always, I appreciate the heck out of my consistent readers and I hope you enjoy this latest installment.

It had taken Sam and Dean less than twelve hours to finish up the lingering case in Nebraska; they both took about an hour-long nap before packing up and heading back to Kansas.  As they made their way home, Sam started checking his email, call log, texts – everything, almost obsessively; impatiently waiting to hear from their missing doctor…hit-woman...he wasn’t sure he knew at this point, but it didn’t matter, as long as she was alright. 

            Dean cast his brother sidelong glances as they hummed down the lonely highway.  He furrowed his brow when he saw his brother aimlessly pick up his phone for the umpteenth time and flip through the apps, still finding his inbox was hopelessly empty.

            “Give it a rest, Sammy.” Dean leaned over and grabbed the phone from Sam’s grasp, sliding it into his jacket pocket.

            “Hey! Dean, give it…” Sam protested, reaching across the car in a vain attempt to retrieve the cell, causing the Impala to swerve a bit.

            “She’ll call when she calls, okay?” Dean pushed Sam away and righted the car, gliding back into his own lane.  Sam huffed at his brother but ultimately relented and sank back into his seat, resigning himself to the fact that checking his phone again wouldn’t magically produce a message.  

            A painful thirty minutes passed in relative silence as Dean focused on the blacktop ahead and the road signs that flew by sporadically, while Sam twiddled his fingers in the passenger seat until a sudden notification tone emanated from Dean’s pocket.  Sam looked up with a start and Dean passed him the chirping phone, glancing over in anticipation as his brother pulled up his email to see a message from an unknown sender, entitled: ‘Miss Me Yet?’  Sam opened the email, cleared his throat, and read aloud for his brother to hear.

            **_Heya boys, I hope you haven’t gotten into much trouble in the…24 (?) hours I’ve been gone. I, for one, had to seduce a pilot to get here – he almost didn’t make it in one piece. I’m sure you know my approximate location (after some careful digging). You should know that I’m fine and in hiding at a safe house. You have questions, no doubt, but that’ll have to wait. I’ll be back at the bunker in few days; I just had to pick up some…stuff._**

**_Don’t wait up,_ **

**_Doc_ **

            Sam breathed a sigh of relief and smiled to himself, going over the words again in his head.  A wave of calm had washed over him; it seemed like he could finally relax a little.  He had to admit though, all this mystery surrounding the woman was intriguing and kinda hot.  As he leaned back in his seat, Sam thought back to the night that Doc had kissed him – it was almost a needy kiss, from lips that had been deprived for too long.   From there he let his mind wander, pondering what might have happened if Doc had stayed with him instead of running off…a slight blush crept up from under his collar and Sam quickly pushed the thought away.

            “Are you just gonna sit there smiling like an idiot or are you gonna email her back?” Dean smirked at Sam, earning a pointed glare from his younger sibling.

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”

* * *

 

            “Aneta, dear, it’s me.  Yes, yes, I’m fine – I know this is the safe house line…well, because I’m at the safe house! Look, we can talk about that later; I need you to get down here. You’ll bring your scissors? Lovely, what would I do without you? Two hours. See you then.”  I hung up the phone and began picking up the mess I had made the night before as I stumbled to bed, my injured leg aching something terrible, and collapsed onto the mattress, not even bothering to undress.  The old sheets came off the bed by force, landing on the floor with a satisfying _thump_ and I kicked them into the corner with surprising relish. 

            “Step 1: accomplished,” I smiled childishly to myself as I left the room, “glad that’s over.”  I paused for a moment and brought the neck of my shirt up to my nose, making a face as I took in a whiff, “Oh, god, that’s me?”

The stale scent of sweat still clung to my skin and mingled with the lingering perfume of old hairspray and the distinct odor of unwashed hair.  I walked directly into the bathroom and turned on the shower, plucking pins from my hair as the water warmed up. I undressed and stepped under the water, taking my time to scrub the dirt and muck from off my skin and under my nails.  When I was finished, I wrapped in a towel and made my way into the kitchen to look for something to satisfy my ever-nagging hunger.

            There were no perishables in my little haven.  Aneta lived two hours away in a small, unknown town, which, of course, meant that she wasn’t around to make sure the safe house had milk or fruit – anything that would rot and bring flies.  Upon inspection, the fridge, well it wasn’t even turned on, and the pantry only yielded rows of various canned items and a rather large assortment of brown-packaged MRE’s.  I groaned audibly at the sight.

            “This is what I stocked my pantry with! What the hell was I thinking…” I glanced over at the digital clock above the stove, and sighed, “11:00 o’clock – hm, I suppose that qualifies as lunch time.”  Forty-five minutes and some beef ravioli with peanut butter later, I was full, dressed, and the painkillers I took before lunch had finally kicked in. 

            There was about a half hour before Aneta would arrive that I used to start packing supplies.  Everything I needed to bring back with me to the boys and the bunker was kept in the bedroom, hidden behind the back wall of the closet.  Pushing my sparse collection of clothes aside, I stepped through to my arsenal – the 6 X 10 room had a weapons rack lining the back wall, on the left wall was a hanging bar that held a wet suit and fins, few skimpy, rather distasteful dresses, an evening gown that had a roomy skirt, making it possible to conceal a weapon on my thigh, and Kevlar vest that was made to go underneath clothing and appear as if one wasn’t wearing it at all.

On the other wall was a cabinet that held various other items that had come in handy during the systematic take-down of the trafficking ring that my father had been working to dismantle just before his assassination.  I removed my night vision goggles from the cabinet and set them aside, followed by a box of room-bugging devices, and my ever-so-handy KA-BAR that had been drawn slowly across more than a few evil throats.

In a bin below the hanging clothes, I had a healthy supply of black cargo pants with tapered legs, making them functional and still allowing for wide range of mobility – those all went into a duffel, along with the Kevlar, one of the trashy dresses, a pair of hooker heels, a few black tank tops, and about ten different black shirts.

“You know, I could use some color in my wardrobe.” I chuckled to the empty room and walked over to the back wall, leaning down to unlatch a long case that laid on the floor beneath the weapons rack.  I opened the case and let out a happy sigh, “Hello beautiful.  Long time, no see,” I smiled as I glided my fingertips gently over the matte black finish of my Barrett M82A1, “we’ve got some work to finish.” I closed the case again and set it with the rest of my things, ready to head back to Kansas with all of my goodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so - for those of you who have never had an MRE, they're not that great, so you gotta jazz them up a little. Putting peanut butter in pasta sounds really gross, but you'd actually be surprised; don't knock it till you try it!  
> And! The Barrett M82A1 is a 50 caliber sniper rifle commonly used in the military, needless to say, our main character has had a bit of practice with this lovely little thing - I'm convinced she's a badass.


	14. On the Road Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finals suck and so does moving, but this chapter is finally finished! It's a little bit of a filler chapter, so I apologize for that, but I did my best with what I had. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

An alert tone pinged from my computer in the other room, letting me know that Aneta had punched in her code for the outer door of the safe house.  I walked back into the living room in time to hear the metal hatch being closed and hesitant steps descending the ladder into the room below.  It was a few seconds later that I was able to see the sturdy figure of my greatest ally making her way down to me.

“I’m telling you Ekaterina, this place will kill me!  I’m too old to be climbing up and down this contraption like some sort of monkey.”

I chuckled and shook my head as Aneta reached the bottom rung and stretched her foot out tentatively, making sure she was really about to touch the floor.  She straightened her clothes and fixed her hair before smiling widely at me and opening her arms to embrace me.  She drew me into a brief hug and placed a quick kiss on either cheek.

“It’s so good to see you, Aneta.  Can I help you with your things?”

She nodded and waved her hand nonchalantly, “Everything I need is here already.  I refuse to break a hip carrying a suitcase down that ridiculous ladder!”

“Well, I’ll just install a wheelchair ramp then.  Would that suit you?” I turned to her and grinned, placing my hands on my hips.

The old woman furrowed her brow and pursed her lips at me, “You cheeky little thing!” She pointed her index finger in my direction and shook it at me, “I’m still spry enough to chase you down with a wooden spoon; it does _not_ matter to me if you’re grown.”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed, lifting my hands in a show of capitulation, “I think that’s worse than being shot.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Aneta dangled the keys to the car on a slender finger before tossing them into my outstretched hand.  When they landed in my palm, I looked down to see which car they belonged to; a smile spread across my face and my eyes lit up.  On the bow of the keys, clear as day, was the General Motors logo, stamped into the metal. “You brought her?”

“It’s a beast to drive, but I know you miss it.” Aneta shrugged, “I never cared much for the noises it makes or the way it looks, but your parents insisted on having one, so why wouldn’t you?  Don’t you get your fill riding around with those boys in their…” she stuttered a bit and gestured at nothing, searching for the right word, “In their death trap?”

“Oh please, the Impala is perfectly safe – and you know it’s not the same.  That’s Dean’s ‘Baby’, I can barely touch her, let alone drive.  Besides, I want to show off _my_ wheels.”

Aneta rolled her eyes and sighed, pulling a chair out from under the desk and patting the seat, “You have a two-day drive to get reacquainted with that thing.  Sit down, let’s do your hair so that you can get back to those boys.”

I sat down but eyed her suspiciously as she retrieved scissors, a spray bottle, and a comb from her bag, “What makes you think I want to get back to them in a hurry?”

She turned my head away from her and started spritzing my hair with water, “You’ve been with them for almost a year, you haven’t called me since you went away with them, and you left your watch on central time…”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I scoffed at her and crossed my arms.

“When you aren’t ‘working’,” Aneta said, snipping off my hair as she spoke, “you always have your watch set to wherever you consider home.  Seems like home is with the Winchesters now.”

I uncrossed my arms and glanced down at the watch on my wrist, the seconds ticking away on Kansas time. I sighed at myself and adjusted the hands, changing it to eastern time. “I can’t afford to think like that, Aneta.  ‘Don’t fall for the target.’ Isn’t that what you always told me?”

“They aren’t targets though, dear.” She kept snipping away, as I watched long tendrils of hair falling around me and curling into spirals on the cool tiles.

“They’re somebody’s targets…” the words came out quietly, almost thoughtfully as I pondered my growing attachment to the hunters, “they must have been watching us for a while.”

Aneta mumbled something in acknowledgment, but we both remained silent as she finished styling my hair into a feminine pixie-cut.  I liked it short for practicality, but I still had to have a certain amount of sex appeal to get close to my targets – Aneta made sure it did just that, making it wispy and elegant.

I changed my shirt when she was finished and went back through the closet to retrieve my things.  After I hauled everything up the ladder, I went back down to say my goodbyes to the woman who had been with me my entire life.  She was stoic – as I expected.  Aneta embraced me once, briefly, and kissed my cheek before nodding and pointing me toward the door.

“If you don’t hear from me…” I hesitated, not wanting to accept that I might not see her again, “I’ll have the boys check on you.”

She smiled, the implication not lost on her, “Goodbye Ekaterina.  I’ll miss you when you’re away.”

I nodded and left, climbing the ladder, grabbing my supplies, and heading to my car.  The old hangar door rattled and screeched as its wheels rolled along the timeworn metal door-track imbedded in the warm concrete. Bits of gravel and sand crackled beneath my shoes as I stepped into the cavernous building and walked up to the shiny vehicle that commanded the room.  I lifted everything into the large trunk and slammed it shut before slipping behind the wheel of my GTO and firing up the engine. 

The floorboards rumbled beneath my feet as I pulled out of the hangar and made for the blacktop.  I turned up my music, rolled down the windows, and smiled as I sped down the freeway.  If I was on my way to die, I might as well live a little first.


	15. Halfway Home

The first leg of my trip back to the bunker ended in Clarksville, Tennessee at another cheap motel that had definitely seen better days.  The room I paid for happened to smell of musty carpet and a hint of vinegar, which I decided was coming from the air conditioning unit mounted in the wall.  The AC unit itself, beige and dusty, was humming and shaking so loudly that I thought it might just take off.  None of it mattered though.  After eleven hours of driving, sleep was calling to me – a siren song that had threatened to leave me on the side of a backroad in the midst of a heap of crushed metal. 

Before I left Florida, I had the foresight to stop and pick up a burner phone to let Sam and Dean know that I was on my way back to them.  Now, in the relative comfort of my motel room, I dug through my duffel bag to retrieve it and plugged the cord into the wall socket next to my nightstand, resting on the bed while I waited for the phone screen to light up, showing that it was connected.  The phone charged fully in the time it took me to wash the road off of myself and change into sleep clothes, so I was able to unplug it and apprehensively punch in Dean’s number.

It took three lingering rings before Dean’s groggy voice came across the line and rumbled in my ear; I could have sworn my heart skipped a beat.  I missed him.

“Somebody better be dying.”

“Well, hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”  I heard rustling, a sound I assumed was Dean sitting up in bed, then his voice through the line again, more alert than before.

“Doc.  Where’ve you been?”  Concern and irritation laced his words, making my stomach flip like I’d come home past curfew.  Okay.  So, not the reaction I was hoping for.  I started pacing the room, walking about three feet then agitatedly spinning on the ball of my foot and walking back, just to repeat the process.

“Well, I hate to mention it,” I scoffed and furrowed my brow, “but it seems like somebody wants me dead.  I thought it best to hightail it out of there…but I’m on my way back.  I’m about ten hours out.”

Dean sighed.  I could picture him sitting up in bed, bare feet on the smooth floor, elbows on his knees, and his rough palm smoothing down his face and over the prickly stubble that had grown in after a few days of inattention. 

“You aren’t being followed, right?” 

“Of course not!” I snipped at him, feeling my face flush in annoyance, “I’m perfectly fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

            Dean didn’t respond, he just stayed on the line, waiting for the haze of red to clear from my eyes.  I had never acted this way with him before, but he certainly knew how to handle the petulant child I was being.  I stopped pacing, sighed heavily, and sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress springs dipping and swaying a bit beneath my added weight.

            “You done?”  His voice came out evenly, but he was unmistakably unamused. 

            “Yeah…” I conceded, mumbling a bit, “I’m sorry.”

I heard him grunt in acknowledgment and clear his throat before speaking. “After you split from the diner, Sam had a little chat with one of the guys that was after you, the scrawny one … _he_ seemed to think that you were some big-shot assassin,” he chuckled darkly then continued, “but, that can’t be true, right Doc?  I mean, you can’t be a killer; you save lives, not take them – unless there’s something you need to tell us.”

“Uh,” I hesitated, sleepily twisting the short hairs at the nape of my neck.  “I think we should talk about this when I get there.  I want you both to hear the story in person.”

“So you can see our faces when you lie to us again?”  Dean was almost growling now, his anger seething through the telephone and sending a chill down my spine.

“Dean, please.  I was going to tell you both about this eventua…”

“Before, or after your Russian buddies put bullets in us?”

“I thought it was over!  You and Sam were never supposed to be a part of this – if I had just done my job correctly, none of this would’ve happened!”  I shouted at him, my eyes burning and pooling with hot tears as I finally allowed the gravity of the situation to come crashing down on me.  There was a loud thumping on the wall, coming from the people in room next door, so I lowered my voice to just above a whisper and choked back a pitiful sob. “I – I just want it to be over.”  I put my face in my hand and closed my eyes, my cheeks dampening with the tears that slipped out between my lashes.  An overwhelming wave of self-loathing washed over me as I shook, weeping freely.  God, I was pitiful.

“Catherine?”  Sam’s soothing voice lilted across the phone line and settled over me, helping calm the wave of emotion that I had been trying so hard to hold back over the past few days.

“Hey Sam,” I managed to sputter out tearfully, my poor heart skipping again.  In the midst of my blubbing, Dean must’ve gone to wake up Sam, hoping that he’d be better at the empathy stuff.

“Hey, it’s good to hear your voice.  Dean told me that you’re about ten hours out, we’re gonna come to you, okay?” I nodded to no one but myself and murmured acknowledgement before he continued, “Then we can all talk about what to do next – I just need you to get some rest.”

“Okay…thanks.” I was quiet now.  Drained.  My head throbbed from crying and my face was tight and puffy; not to mention that I was, in fact, absolutely exhausted. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow, goodnight.”  There was some shuffling about, muffled squabbling voices, and the sharp clattering of the phone falling on their end, but then Dean was back.

“Uh…alright then.  I guess we’re heading out tonight and we’ll be there by morning.  You’re gonna be okay, Doc.  We’ll help you fix this.”  Dean was gentler this time, probably because he wanted to avoid any more waterworks – I didn’t blame him.  It wasn’t his fault that I was currently an emotionally compromised cream puff.

“Look Dean, um…I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you guys from the beginning, I just wasn’t ready to let you in to this part of my life yet.”

“Yeah, I get it.  Listen, you should really get some sleep; you’ve been running for a couple days now.” Oh Dean, ever the big brother.

“See ya…night, Dean.”  I lay back on the bed and slid between the covers before leaning over to flick off the lamp on my nightstand.

“Goodnight,” he paused, the weight of something unsaid keeping him from hanging up right away, “hey Doc?”

“Yes?”  My eyes were drifting closed now, the puffy lids growing heavier and heavier with each blink.

“I’m glad you’re alright…”  Then he was gone.  I smiled a bit as I put my phone back on the nightstand and burrowed under the covers, hoping that everything would be better in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lame chapter, I know. The next one will be up within a couple days, though. Hopefully it'll make up for the languid trudging along through the past couple chapters. The next one will have some action and some more clues as to who wants Doc dead.


	16. A word from the author

Hello my wonderful readers!

Yes, I know this isn't the new chapter that I promised would come in a "couple" days. I thought I'd let you know that I'm currently in the middle of the Move From Hell.  I'm convinced that a moving company run by Crowley himself would be better than this shit show. It's been Murphy's law with this moving process, so I haven't had as much time to write as I thought I would. That being said, the next chapter is almost finished (it's a long one, yay), so I will have it posted for you hopefully by this weekend. Thank you for your patience, and as always thank you for reading!

Love,

The author 

 


	17. Things Better Left Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's one that's a little closer to my heart, so it was hard to write at the end, not to mention the crazy move I've got going on, but here it is. As always, thank you for reading.

Sunlight streaked through the motel room window and warmed my cheeks, rousing me gently from the first truly restful sleep I had gotten since I’d left the bunker.  The light peeked insistently from between the heavy curtains that were swaying upward at the bottom, tousled intermittently by the air conditioner that had hummed noisily the entire night.  Unable to fall back asleep, I rolled over onto my back and stretched my arms upward, arching my back and rolling onto my side like a lazy cat.  A little green light flashed on the top corner of my phone’s screen and caught my attention as the sleepy numbness slowly faded from my muscles.  I reached over and switched on the phone to find a text from Dean saying that Sam had tracked my phone – I made a mental note to get a new one – and that they would be there around 11:00 in the morning. 

“Shit,” I rolled out of the bed, my foot snagging on the sheets on the way down, causing me to fall on the carpet on my hands and knees.  The boys were going to be there in about ten minutes and I was dressed in a ratty old night shirt and my underwear.  Not to mention that I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet and my cropped hair stuck out wildly all over my head.

I picked myself up off the floor quickly and rushed into the bathroom, frantically brushing my teeth, washing my face, and fixing my hair a bit with a thin layer of pomade.  I went back out to my bag and pulled out a pair of pants and one of my many black shirts; I put them both on and slid on my socks and shoes as well.

 

* * *

 

Dean took one hand off the steering wheel to rub his eyes and turn the radio down.  He glanced over at Sam, who had his computer out and was charting the path to get to Doc.

“How much farther, Sam?”

“It’s this motel on the left.”  Sam pointed to the building and put his computer away, sliding it into a bag and under the seat.  Dean pulled into the parking lot of the motel, taking a quick look at the vehicles that were scattered around the lot.  His gaze was immediately drawn to the burgundy GTO that glinted and shined in the sun and looked out of place in front of the seedy motel.

“That’s a sweet ride.”  He maneuvered the Impala into the spot next to it and shifted into park before glancing up at Sam again.  “Alright, we’re here.  Now what?”

Sam gestured out the front window at the door to the room directly in front of them, “From the signal that I tracked, it looks like she’s in that one.”

Dean nodded, “okay,” he opened his door and stepped one foot out, placing it on the pavement, but his brother reached over and grabbed his arm before he could get out.

“Wait a minute, Dean.  What are we gonna say to her?”

“Dude, seriously?  Maybe you should just profess your undying love and get it the hell over with.”  Dean scoffed and made a move to get out of the car again.

“Oh, come on.  You were just as worried about her as I was…I know you’re angry that she didn’t tell us, but you’re also angry that she could’ve gotten hurt and we weren’t there to protect her.”  

Dean peered into the car at his brother and rolled his eyes, realizing Sam was right, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction, “Whatever.  Would you just get out, please?”

Sam grinned at his brother and shook his head as he climbed out of the Impala and they made their way up to the door.  As Sam knocked, Dean glanced back over at the car he had parked next to, “Hey, you don’t think that’s Doc’s, do you?”

 

* * *

 

As if on cue, the throaty growl of the Impala echoed in the parking lot and shortly after, a firm knock rattled the door, signaling the arrival of the Winchesters.  I tucked my handgun into my waistband, just in case, and unbolted the door to let the boys in.

“Heya, boys!” I grinned at the look of surprise on Sam’s face and the amusement on Dean’s as they slowly registered my new appearance.  I took a step back and ushered them inside before closing the door and bolting it again.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at me and smiled, “Your hair is shorter than Sam’s now.”  He nudged his brother with his elbow and chuckled.  Then, much to my surprise, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my slender frame, drawing me in towards his chest.  I had a suspicion that I missed something from the knowing look Sam was giving his brother, but I reciprocated the hug anyway, encircling his waist with my arms and tucking my head under his chin.  He had placed one hand on my head, where my hair should’ve been, and his chest vibrated when he spoke, “Why didn’t you just tell us that you needed help?”

I mumbled a response into Dean’s chest, but when he realized he couldn’t hear me, he released me from his arms and took a small step back, rubbing his hands together to ease his awkwardness – I guess he hadn’t expected to hug me either.   

“I don’t know,” I shrugged and looked down at the floor, unable to meet their eyes, “I’ve just been on my own for so long…” I chuckled dryly, “It would seem I have some trust issues.”  I had barely looked up at them again before it was Sam’s turn to envelope me in an embrace, practically smothering me with his large body.  I beamed and laughed in earnest this time, “Jeez, guys.  I was only gone for like three days…I didn’t realize you missed me this much.”

Sam’s laugh rumbled in his chest like Dean’s voice had, but unlike with Dean, I held onto Sam for a bit longer, enjoying his warmth around me and the comforting steadiness of his heartbeat; I closed my eyes and let myself lean into him, drawing from his quiet strength.  “I _did_ miss you, Doc.” He said quietly, for only me to hear.  Eventually Dean cleared his throat and Sam slipped away from me.  I felt the loss immediately, wanting his heat back and the clean smell of soap and laundry detergent that lingered on his clothes. 

“So, Doc,” Dean started, “we’re glad you’re okay, but I’m pretty curious why you’ve got two trigger-happy Russians on your tail.”

I sighed and gestured to the table and chairs that sat in the corner of the room. “You’d better sit down, it’s a long story.”  The boys both sat down at the table and I walked over to the foot of the bed, taking a seat there and crossing my legs ‘Indian-style’ as I began my story.

“Because Sam knows my real name, I’ll assume that you found the newspaper clipping in my bag.”  I glanced up at the brothers who both had slightly sheepish looks on their faces.  “That’s alright, I sorta expected it from you two.  Anyway, from that clipping, you’ll know that my father was an ambassador and that he and my mother spent a lot of time in Ukraine and that they were working with the government there to eradicate this human trafficking ring.  The ring was supposedly run by an American, using Russians as his workforce to draw suspicion away from his true identity. 

In November of 2009, both of my parents were assassinated on one of their many trips abroad.  The assassin was hired by some guy named Creighton, who was assumed to be the man in charge of the ring.  Anyway, the assassin was highly skilled, able to make his way past the security detail and into my parents’ room, then executing them and the security detail on his way out.  The hallway camera feeds were wiped, not a single witness, no prints, and no weapon was ever recovered.

I was on a deployment when I found out, so they shipped me back home to attend the funeral and gave me time off to grieve.  I was coming to the end of my contract anyway, so I decided to leave the military, not really knowing what I was going to do instead.  All of my parent’s money and property went to me, so I knew that I wouldn’t be wanting for anything while I figured things out.

I began obsessively searching through all of my father’s files on the trafficking ring, trying desperately to figure out who ran it - at the time I hadn’t heard of Creighton yet - who had been hired to kill my parents, and how I was going to get revenge.  I thought that I was playing it off pretty well, but Aneta, our housekeeper, who’s known me my whole life, she knew what I was up to and she helped me form a plan to systematically take out every known member of the ring, until I worked my way to the top.  

So, I took a year to get things in order.  I called off my wedding, built safe-houses in various locations, I took countless combat training classes, purchased weapons and gear, sold the family home and practically all of our possessions, and then…I disappeared.  No one but Aneta and you two know my true identity.  I use fake passports, only pay in cash – kinda like you guys really.  That’s why it wasn’t hard for me to make the decision to go with you.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the bed as the boys stared at me, mulling over my story.

“What happened after you went underground?” Sam leaned forward, intrigued, placing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

“I killed them all.  Everyone but the head-honcho.”  I felt my jaw tighten at the memories that came flooding in. “I got pretty good at it too.  I spent two years doing freelance work – not exactly my proudest moments, but they were practice runs.  I had to hone my skills before I went after the real deal.”

Dean laughed out loud at that and I couldn’t tell at first if it was genuine or not, but as he calmed down, I realized he was in disbelief.

“You?  You’re…what?  A contract killer?”  He stood and paced a few steps, running his hand down his face, unsure what to think. “Damn, you sure know how to pick ‘em, Sam.”

I rolled my eyes at the older Winchester and finished my story, “I can only assume that because I didn’t finish the job, Creighton and whoever’s left decided to come after me.  I never could figure out who he really was.”

“So, we finish it now.  You’ll have help this time.”  Sam had determination in his eyes as he met my gaze.  I stood, crossing my arms and shaking my head at him.

“No, Sam.  This is my fight.  You and Dean already got the shit beat out of you at the diner…I can’t ask any more than just a safe place to sleep and plan my next move.”

“Well, you got one thing right,” Dean walked back to the table and leaned back against it., “we’re heading back up to the bunker before you attract any more attention.”

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, I was repacked and ready to leave the motel.  There was a brief period of time that I half expected Dean to just strap me down to the backseat of the Impala and drive straight for Mexico, but saner heads prevailed and I was ‘allowed’ to leave the room of my own accord.  The boys, of course, had made it crystal clear that I was not going to leave their sight until they knew that I was completely out of danger; nothing would dissuade them.  It didn’t seem to matter to them that I was a fairly proficient assassin that had single-handedly taken down an entire trafficking ring, one bastard at a time.

“Guys, come on!”  I tried desperately to sound stern as I attempted to wrestle my duffel bag and gear boxes from the brothers as they exited the room.

“No, Doc.” Dean placed my gear in his trunk and waited for Sam to throw in the duffel before he closed the lid with a metallic groan. “You’re on lockdown until this is over.  Get in.”  He gestured at the back seat of the Impala, the door open for me to slide in.

“I have my own car.”  I crossed my arms and dangled my keys from a fingertip.  “Those two that are after me, they know that I ride around in the Impala.  They won’t recognize my car.”

Dean scowled at me for a moment and I shot him my most winning smile.  He looked over at Sam, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, and threw up his hands.

“A little help here, Sam?”

“What?” Sam had donned his most innocent expression, but as soon as Dean grumbled in annoyance and turned back to me, Sam smirked at his brother’s attempt to ‘herd the cat’, as it were.

“Fine,” Dean huffed and turned, looking around the parking lot. “Where is it?”

I responded by walking up to the GTO, sliding my key into the lock, and swinging the driver’s side door open. “You’re looking at it, Sweet Cheeks.”

“ _That’s_ completely inconspicuous.” Dean flashed me a longsuffering glance, which I reasoned was a step up from the death glares I’d gotten from him earlier.  I felt tempted to tell him that ‘he was one to talk’, but I was already in hot water with the older Winchester and while I knew that Dean was just falling into his natural role as big-brother-with-a-hero-complex, I thought it best not to press my luck.

“I’ll ride with her.”  Dean and I both turned to look at Sam with varying degrees of discontent at the suggestion.  For Dean, it was that he didn’t want to drive for the next ten hours with no one to keep him company.  For me, well, I didn’t particularly relish the thought of being left to deal with Sam on my own.  I paled at the thought of ‘talking it out’ with him like he did with his brother; I had never been an empathetic person, which made it rather difficult for me to understand all of Sam’s complex emotional states.  It wasn’t that Sam was a wuss, he just tended to be far more open about things than I would ever be.  Yeah, I’d spent plenty of time with my own emotions, but those were in _my_ head and I was positive that I handled them in the worst way possible; heaven forbid that I’d have to pick up on someone else’s feelings and then _talk_ about them.  God, I’d rather die.

In the end, I begrudgingly consented to letting Sam ride shotgun in my car, muttering grumpily about how I “don’t need a babysitter.”  We all climbed into our respective vehicles and hit the road, hoping for smooth sailing on the way back to Kansas.

The Impala rumbled itself out of the motel’s parking lot and I followed closely behind, flipping on my music to fill the already-awkward silence.  I let my mind wander as I drove, mulling over the loss of the easy companionship that I’d had with Sam before that night.  My stomach dropped at the thought and I frowned to myself – why’d I have to kiss him?  Everything was perfect before that, then it all imploded at once, but I had to admit, it was a really nice kiss.  Against my better judgement, I found myself drifting into my memory of his warm lips pressed against mine, his clean, masculine scent, the way his barely-there stubble prickled beneath my fingertips, and how it felt to have his callused hands brush gently against my skin.  My cheeks grew warm and my heart grew hopeful as I allowed myself to wonder for the first time if it really was _just_ a kiss.

I took in a sharp breath and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, snapping myself back to reality.  Sam shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside me, twiddling his thumbs as we rode along.

“So, you were engaged?”  It was the first time Sam had spoken in the two hours we’d been on the road and _that_ is what he wanted to talk about?

The car screeched in protest as I slammed on the breaks and almost sent Sam flying into the dashboard.  Thank goodness there wasn’t anyone on the road behind me or they would have slammed right into my rear bumper. 

“Ha!” I slapped the heel of my hands on the steering wheel as I got the car going again, “you just get right to it, don’t you?”

“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine…” Sam looked over at me, his brow furrowed in concern, afraid that he’d upset me and made a poor choice of topic for a ten-hour road trip.

I waved him off with my hand and cocked an eyebrow at him in what was now mild amusement.  “No, no – I’ll tell you about my _fiancé._ ”  I enunciated the word spitefully and drew out the last syllable as I rolled my eyes at the title. 

Sam’s look of concern grew even deeper at my comment.  He had that apologetic, puppy-dog expression that could get the most hard-hearted person to crumble; he was always just so damn…genuine.  I had to admit it wasn’t a trait I envied.  To not _feel_ other people’s pain was a blessing in my opinion.

“Did it end badly?”

“Well, any relationship that ends with someone getting a vase lobbed at their head, probably didn’t end well.”

“Wow, so what happened?”  Sam shifted in his seat again, this time turning so that he could face me, that same sad expression gracing his handsome features.

“Don’t give me that look.”  I reached over and shoved his shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood.  If there’s one thing I absolutely didn’t want from Sam, it was pity.  Sam’s expression eased and we smiled at each other, falling back into our easy friendship.  I drew my gaze back to the road and settled in, not really wanting to share this particular story.  “I was engaged to this guy named David Howard.  We met through our parents and it was ‘loathe at first sight’.  I mean, I seriously couldn’t stand the guy.”  Sam laughed at that and I looked over at him curiously. “What?”

“I’m not surprised.”  He shook his head, still chuckling, “you’re too independent to fall for any guy that’s less than perfect…” His smile faded a bit and from the corner of my eye, I could see him looking up at me, almost sadly.

“No one is perfect, Sam.”  We were both silent for a moment before I cleared my throat and started my story again.  “So, David and I got closer over the next four years and he eventually proposed.  Of course, I accepted.  He had become my closest friend and confidant, our parents were good friends, and he was working his way up to being an ambassador like my father. 

It was safe, comfortable…until my parents died.  I was already a pretty emotionally constipated person, but his idea of grieving and my idea of grieving were far different.  David was a really sensitive guy, you know?  He wanted to hug on me and cry and talk about what great people they were, how much they’ll be missed.  I was just…mad.  At everything and everyone; I got depressed and anxious, but most of all, I wanted revenge.  It consumed me.

The thing was, when I needed him the most, that’s when he started to get distant.  Granted, I wasn’t being particularly nice to him at the time, but I had just lost my whole family and he was going out every night and not coming home until the middle of the next day.  There was one week that he just didn’t come home at all.

I confronted him about it – one of our many fights – and he told me that he had found someone else.  He said that I had problems and that he couldn’t handle it anymore.  Then out of nowhere, a vase just went flying… I wish I hadn’t missed.”  I glanced to my right when I heard Sam laughing again.  The sound was intoxicating and I couldn’t help but chuckle myself; apparently, Sam’s laugh was contagious.

“Well, hey – it all worked out.  If David hadn’t left you, you might be with him and not here with me.”

“You guys really like having me around?  Even with all the shit I’ve gotten you into?”  I ran my fingers through my hair self-consciously, which seemed to be developing into a habit.

“Yeah.  I mean, I can’t speak for Dean, but it’s nice having someone around that can handle themselves.”

“You might change your mind about that after this whole ordeal.”


	18. Fast Cars and Hired Guns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't had internet for what seems like a millennia, but was actually only 9 days - nevertheless, it caused this chapter to be super late. My apologies. Anyway, the new chapter is here, with what I hope are some exciting developments. As always, thank you for reading.

The rest of the car ride passed uneventfully, the warm, constant rumble of the engine providing soothing white noise as the background for the quiet conversation between me and Sam.  After I had opened up to him about the whole ordeal with David, Sam started telling me about all of the unfortunate relationships that he’d had throughout the years; I started to see a consistent pattern of women and hunting not being a good mix for him.  My heart nearly broke when he told me about Jess and how he had to kill the poor girl that had been turned into a werewolf, anger rose up in my chest at the story about how Ruby had led Sam astray, but I couldn’t help but roll my eyes when he told me about Amelia and her…indecisiveness, to put it mildly.  In my heart of hearts I was glad that Sam had chosen his brother over a life with her; it was a selfish thought, but I convinced myself that it was because Dean needed him more than she did and _not_ because I wanted him for myself.

“Well,” I cleared my throat after Sam had finished, “aren’t we a pair?”  I looked over and shot him a small smile before leaning toward him a bit and briefly patting the top of the hand he had resting on his thigh.  

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, his eyes flitting to my hand as I withdrew it from his and placed it back on the steering wheel.  I pressed down leisurely on the brake pedal, gliding to a stop at a traffic light about thirty minutes out from the bunker, breathing a sigh of relief that the trip was almost over and taking a minute to roll the stiffness out of my neck.  

“Catherine, I –” I looked expectantly up at Sam as he began to speak, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before darting them toward his window distractedly as a vehicle pulled up to the light next to us.

“Well shit.” I cut Sam off, catching his eye again and nodding out the window, “you’ll have to hold that thought, Sam.  We’ve got some company.”

Sam turned to look up at the SUV that was idling in the lane next to us, then just as quickly, he turned his face away, gathering that the two hit-men hadn’t noticed us yet.  We had been following the Impala the whole way back to Kansas, but Dean had pulled ahead of us when I’d gotten caught at the light; the goons in the SUV must have been following the Impala at a distance too, not realizing that I was in the car directly behind. 

The light was still red so I threw my car into park and opened the door, drawing my gun in the process.  Sam’s face grew pale as he saw me leave the vehicle and walk around to his side, in between my GTO and the clueless hit-men.  “What the hell are you doing, Doc?”

“Slide over.  You’re gonna have to drive.”  I watched briefly as Sam complied, clambering over the center console.  Turning around on my heel, I lifted my left hand and waved at Crazy-eyes, who was in the driver’s seat and had finally recognized me, before aiming at him and flinging open his door.   I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him from the vehicle before firing two quick shots into Paul Bunyan’s stomach, watching him double over in what I knew from experience was excruciating pain. 

Crazy-Eyes, the man I had pulled from the SUV, had regained his faculties and proceeded to grab tightly onto the wrist of the hand I was using to hold him.  When he tried to release himself from my grip, I responded by shooting him in his left leg, just above the kneecap.  He crumpled a bit with the pain, giving me an opportunity to drag him around to the back of my vehicle and shove him into the trunk of the GTO before bringing the butt of my weapon down sharply across his skull.  He quit struggling and slumped down in the trunk, entirely unconscious.  I slammed the trunk closed and marched purposefully to the passenger door of my vehicle, flinging it open to let myself in. “Sam, drive,” I growled, throwing myself into the passenger seat, the door slamming shut with the momentum of Sam flooring the gas pedal, escaping toward the bunker.

It only took a few minutes before we heard the sickening sound of bullets pinging off the metal body of the GTO and the loud, metallic screeching of the SUV scraping the side of some civilian’s car.  Paul Bunyan must’ve had a ridiculously high pain tolerance, as he was doggedly pursuing and shooting at us, despite his bullet wounds.  I rolled my window down and twisted around in the passenger seat, placing my right knee on the slippery vinyl and planting my left foot firmly on the rubberized floorboards before leaning my upper body out of the window and firing off a few shots in his direction.

The SUV raced toward us, gaining speed and closing the distance.  Paul Bunyan leaned out of his window again and fired back at me, sending a spray of bullets toward me and Sam that completely blew out our back window.  Sam flinched as glass shattered all over the back seat, but I clenched my jaw tightly, feeling rage pool in my chest.  I released the empty clip from my weapon, letting it clatter to the floor, before retrieving a full one from one of my cargo pockets and clicking it into place.  “Stop. Shooting. My fucking. Car.” I punctuated the last word by chambering a round and leaning back out the window, aiming carefully at the driver behind us as Sam swung the big Pontiac around a corner. 

The new direction gave me a straight shot at our pursuer, but I pulled back quickly as he fired at me again.  Four or five rounds pierced through my door and into the center console; it was the sixth that I had lost track of, vaguely recognizing the dampness that seemed to spread from my abdomen.  I leaned forward again and took aim, adrenaline pumping frantically through my veins; I squeezed the trigger and slowly let out a breath as the bullet flew from the barrel of my weapon and hit its mark – right between Paul Bunyan’s eyes. 

The SUV careened off the road and slammed into a brick building, taking a power line down as well.  The vehicle bounced and swayed on its tires in the aftershock of the crash and electricity sparked sporadically from the downed power line.  I drew my gaze away from the carnage and slid down heavily in my seat, my body slowly coming off of the adrenaline high.  Sam still had the glow of excitement in his eyes as we sped down the street, 15 minutes out from the bunker.

“Damn, Doc.  That was impressive, I might have to convince Dean to let you come on hun… Doc?”  Sam stopped, his smile disappearing as he took a closer look at my limp body, then down to my shirt that was darkening with the wetness of what could only be blood.  I held onto the wound, sticky warmth coating my shaking fingers as I looked up at Sam imploringly.

“Sam,” I managed, groaning weakly, “I thin… I think I got shot.”


	19. My Hero

Sam’s heart was pumping wildly as he sped down the road, pushing the GTO’s engine as hard as he could.  What would normally have been a fifteen-minute drive to the bunker, Sam made in just two minutes; he disregarded street signs and stop lights, frantically trying to get Doc to safety.  When he finally did reach the bunker, he swung the car into the garage, bringing it to a screeching halt that echoed off the walls.

Dean, who hadn’t seen anything that had gone on just minutes prior, came rushing out to the car primed for action, but was perplexed at the sight of what looked like a sleeping Doc in the passenger seat.

“What the hell, Sam?”  Dean had his arms outstretched in a gesture that mirrored his question and the look on his face was one of confusion and disbelief.  It was at that precise moment, that Sam jumped from the vehicle – it had barely finished its little roll forward after he had thrown it into park – and Dean noticed the paler-than-usual, almost deathly, pallor that had crept its way across Doc’s features.  In those few seconds, as Sam rounded the front of the Pontiac and practically yanked the passenger door off the hinges, it finally dawned on Dean that, one: something was seriously wrong with the petite woman that Sam now held like a child in his arms, and two: that he was still standing in the middle of the garage with a dumb look on his face and no answer to his question.  Sam pushed past his brother and disappeared down into the bunker, hollering behind him that, “there’s a guy in the trunk.” 

My head lolled heavily against Sam’s chest and I tried my best to keep my hand tightly against my wound as he carried me through the bunker.  He ended up laying me on one of the library tables, as gently as possible, before running to find a blanket and my med kit.  The shock had mostly worn off by then, so as I lay there on the hard, wooden table, I could feel every nerve that had been damaged – all of them, screaming emergency signals at my brain.  Of course, my brain, having – quite literally – a mind of its own, was telling the rest of my body that the best course of action was, obviously, to fall asleep.  Luckily, Sam returned before I succumbed to exhaustion and he began preparations to remove the bullet that was lodged in the flesh just above my right hipbone. 

With trembling fingers, I lifted my shirt up above my navel and took in a sharp breath as a fresh stream of blood flowed freely from my wound, down my side, and ended in a small puddle beneath my back. 

“Okay, Doc.  What do you need?”  Sam had a wide-eyed, lost look on his face that would have made me laugh, had the situation been a tad less dire.  I reached out and grasped his wrist, holding on for a minute to ground myself.

“Forceps – I need forceps.” I cried out as I tried to lift my head off the table, the pain from the bullet hole burning across my abdomen.  Sam was wildly rifling through a pouch that contained most of my instruments, casting worried glances at me until he finally found what he was looking for.  He handed me the forceps and came to my side to cradle my head in his hands, easing the pressure off the damaged muscles that surrounded the wound. 

“You need to hurry, you’ve already lost a lot of blood.”  Sam’s voice was heavy with anxiety and dread as he watched me try and fail to remove the bullet from my body.  My hands that had always been so steady, so certain, betrayed me in that moment.  The tremors were too much and I lost my grip on the forceps, letting them fall to rest on my blood-streaked, exposed stomach, rising and falling rapidly with my desperate breaths.

I looked up at Sam and gripped his hand, trying to be reassuring, “Sam, you have to do it, okay?  I know you’ve done this before…” I shivered slightly, the blood loss taking its toll, causing my teeth to involuntarily clack against each other.

“That was always with Dean though – never after this much time had passed.”

“Do you want me to die or not!” If pleading didn’t work, maybe getting pissed would.  I shoved the forceps into his hand and lay my head back on the cold wood of the table.  “Get the fucking bullet out, Sam.”

He inserted the forceps into the wound, heading straight for the bullet.  I screamed.

 

* * *

 

            After watching his brother hurry into the depths of the bunker, Dean stalked over to the trunk of Doc’s car and popped it open.  Inside, he found the black-and-blue-cheeked face of Crazy Eyes.  He was conscious now and unfortunately unbound; he immediately lunged out at Dean, earning himself nothing but a right hook to his injured cheekbone.  While the man lay dazed on the floor, Dean did a quick search of the trunk, coming up with a large zip-tie that he used to secure the hit-man’s hands.  Dean hauled Crazy Eyes up off the floor and held him tightly by the elbow, leading him into the bunker.

            “I heard that your little slut sprung a leak.”  Crazy Eyes grinned, his wide mouth filled with crooked teeth only adding to his manic appearance.  Dean didn’t bat an eye at him.

            “Move.”  He shoved against Crazy Eyes’ back, pushing him toward the door.  Just as they stepped over the threshold, a piercing scream echoed from the direction of the library.  Dean clenched his jaw and shut his eyes for a moment, as if he felt the pain himself – if he could take it from her he would.

            “There she is!” Excitement bubbled up in the hit-man’s voice as his face contorted back into that sinister grin. “I love it when the bitches scream.”  He started laughing hysterically as if it were a joke.

            That’s when Dean started swinging.


	20. Playing Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I wanted to try something a tad different; writing this chapter from Sam and Dean's point of view rather than Doc's, so you'll have to tell me what you think about that. As always, thanks for reading and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Oh! Happy 4th!

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he gazed down at Doc, she was barely awake but her breathing was smooth and her pulse steady.  He had saved her; removed the bullet, stopped the bleeding, and bandaged up the wound almost as well as if she’d done it herself.  Sam reached up to Doc’s cheek and gently brushed away the fat tears that had rolled down from the corners of her eyes to pool in the crooks of her ears.  He was about to scoop her off the table and put her in bed, but the heavy footfalls in the hallway made him pause. 

            Dean came into view, laden with the broken and bruised hit-man slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.  Sam raised his eyebrows at his older brother, clearly noticing that the state of their prisoner now, was not the state that they had…obtained him in.  Dean just shrugged and gave a slight nod to his brother – that secret language they communicated in.

            “Humans, man.”  He raised a hand in exasperation before heading down the hall to dump the man, who was yet again unconscious, in the dungeon for safekeeping.  As Dean’s footsteps receded, Sam gave Doc’s shoulder a light shake.

            “Hey there, Annie Oakley,” he managed a bright smile as Doc’s eyes fluttered open, “you’re gonna have to help me out here…” her eyes slowly closed again, not willing to participate. “Hey, hey! Come on Catherine, you have to sit up for me.”  Sam slid a hand under the curve of her neck and the other under her left shoulder before lifting her torso towards himself and draping a blanket over her shoulders.  Doc groaned weakly with the movement but, Sam just wrapped the blanket tightly around her arms, so they wouldn’t hang limply as he carried her, and scooped the woman into his arms, carrying her ‘bridal style’ down the hall to her room.

            Once there, Sam placed Doc gently on the bed and then proceeded to rummage through her dresser drawers for a clean nightgown – did Doc wear nightgowns? – he decided he’d even settle for a t-shirt as long as it looked comfortable and loose.  He opened the first drawer, immediately shut it, and shook his head as he felt his face flush – no t-shirts in the underwear drawer.  Sam searched through two more drawers before he finally found a random assortment of nightclothes that consisted primarily of oversized graphic tees and band shirts.  After digging through them for a moment, Sam smirked and brought out the one he’d settled on, then walked back over to the bed and roused Doc again.

            “I’m going to change your clothes now.”  He paused a minute, received a few slow blinks and a grunt in return, and proceeded to remove the bloodstained, irreparably damaged clothes from Doc’s lithe form.  He started with her shirt, sitting her up again and sliding the garment up and over her head and arms before sliding the new one on in its place.  After removing her boots, Sam moved to her pants next, unbuttoning them, unzipping them, then easing them off of her legs, the fabric now stiff with a fair amount Doc’s dried blood.

            It was then that Sam actually took her in.  He’d been trying to afford her as much decency as he could, given the situation, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and running his callused fingertips over the misshapen skin on Doc’s right thigh.

            “It’s ugly, isn’t it?” Sam startled at the sound of Doc’s tired voice, breaking his trance, but he immediately shook his head and drew his hand away.

            “No…” He said quietly, sitting on the bed by her feet.  He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes – they were woeful eyes, he thought.  “It’s just a scar; a reminder of how far you’ve come.”  Doc held his gaze, nodding thoughtfully, but still not speaking. “Besides,” Sam continued, “I have it on good authority that guys dig scars.”  They both laughed quietly as Sam rose again and pulled back the covers of Doc’s bed, so that she could slide between the cool sheets.  He patted her hand, whispered goodnight, and made his way to the door.

            “Sam?” Doc’s voice was small and unsure in the cold concrete room.  Sam turned and paused, his hand on the light switch.  “Stay…please.” He needed no second bidding as he flipped off the lights and kicked off his shoes before nestling on the bed beside her, laying on top of the covers.  He covered himself with the blanket he’d used to carry Doc to bed and settled in, facing her in the dark. 

            As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sam was able to see the shape of her face, so he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.  “Goodnight, Doc.”  His soft words were heard only by the empty air and he smiled as the sound of even breathing came from the woman next to him.

* * *

 

Dean had finished chaining up Ratface, as he decided to call him, and made his way back down the labyrinthine halls to find his brother and inquire after Doc.  He trudged along quietly, mulling over the day’s events – remembering with disgust that the man they held captive, wanted Doc dead and that his companion had already nearly succeeded.

Seeing the door to Doc’s room cracked open, Dean stopped and nudged it to better see inside as light from the hallway cast a yellow beam on the sleeping forms of his brother and the assassin.  Dean stood watching them for a few moments before Sam’s head rose, noticing the shadow in the doorway, and he slipped out of Doc’s bed, walking into the hall with his brother and closing the door behind him.

The men stood silent outside the room, Dean running his fingers through his hair in a tired gesture and Sam leaning against the wall with his bloodstained hands in deep in his pockets.  Dean eventually cleared his throat to break the silence.

“Doc okay?”

“Yeah.  I got the bullet out and patched her up…not as well as she’d do it, but we’ve done it for years and turned out fine…” Sam trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor and sighing loudly.  Dean gripped his brother’s shoulder reassuringly, forcing Sam to meet his eyes.

“You did the best you could with the tools you had.  She’ll be fine.”

“She will.” Sam agreed as Dean dropped his hand from his shoulder and took a step back.  “You beat the shit out of that guy.”

Dean let out a humorless chuckle and glanced off in the direction he’d just come from, “that sick bastard.”  He shook his head before looking back at his brother, “he got pleasure from hearing Doc scream.  I could’ve killed him.”

Sam clenched his jaw, feeling anger blooming within his chest, “If you don’t, I might.”  The words came out in a low growl and Dean could only nod silently, wishing they didn’t need the man for information.

“I could go for a drink about now, Sammy.”

“Me too.”


	21. Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! Sorry it took so long - again. SO, I wanted to get this chapter out to you as soon as I finished it, but that means there's zero editing done to it. You'll have to forgive any mistakes. As always, thank you for reading - enjoy!

Waking up felt…well, if we’re being completely honest, it felt like shit.  The back of my head was sore, my muscles all ached, my memory was a tad fuzzy – all feelings that I was particularly familiar with, but it was the heat that was killing me.  I got to wake up to the uncomfortable dampness of being wrapped in soggy sheets; the back of my neck was sticky and beads of sweat meandered languorously between my breasts.  I pressed the fabric of my shirt against my skin to soak up the droplets, frowning as I noticed the shirt I was wearing.  Then it all came rushing back to me.  The car chase, the wound…Sam crawling into bed with me.  That memory had me glancing at the space next to me, then promptly sighing and pursing my lips toward the ceiling.  Sam was gone.    

I mean, I suppose I understood. I’d caused them so much trouble over the past week – they were probably both ready to get rid of me.  Hell, after Sam saw my scar-ridden body, any attraction he felt toward me was definitely gone.  I didn’t presume to think that Sam was shallow, but I was…well, mangled would be putting it nicely.  It was stupid of me to think we had a chance anyway; an assassin and a hunter – a damn recipe for disaster.  As I stared up at the ceiling, I searched longingly for cracks, vaguely hoping it would just open up and swallow me; and to top it all off, a persistent, throbbing ache was radiating from my lower abdomen.  Traitorous tears trailed down my cheeks before I even realized I was miserable.

The quiet shuffle of jean-clad legs echoed in the hallway, snapping me out of my pity-party just in time to wipe my eyes and sneak in a final sniffle before Dean appeared in my doorway, a wide smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re up.” He stepped into the room and sauntered over to the side of the bed, his smile sliding downward into a look of unease as his gaze flicked from one red, puffy eye to the other, then down to my runny nose.  In just two quick steps he had reached my side and extended a hand to pull back the thin sheet that draped over my lower half.  “What’s the matter, is it your wound? I can get you something for the pain…”  He trailed off as I shook my head and reached out to grasp his hand, preventing him from pulling back the sheet.  I wrapped my fingers loosely around his and squeezed gently, in what I was hoping would be a reassuring gesture.

“I’m fine Dean, really.  Just – tired I think.” I smiled weakly and tried to meet his eyes, hoping he’d bought it.  Of course, Dean being Dean, he didn’t.  He sat down next to me on the edge of the bed, my pale hand pressed gently – but firmly – between both of his warm rough palms.  He leaned toward me, like he was about to tell me a secret, his jaw set in that intimidating seriousness that was so natural to him.

“Sweetheart, you can’t bullshit and bullshitter.  Now, I’ve only _witnessed_ you crying about a handful of times, so I’m guessing that something big is bothering you.”  He raised his eyebrows at me and released my hand while he waited for my response.  I sighed, chuckled ruefully, then stared up at the ceiling again, having decided it was easier than looking at him.

“You’re gonna think I’m being ridiculous.”

“Nope.  This is a ridicule-free zone…unless I think your reason is stupid, ‘cause then I’m definitely gonna tease you about it.” I shot him a sideways glare, but his eyes lit up and he just grinned.  Fortunately for him, I tended to find it endearing (against my better judgement) so, I relented with another heavy sigh.

“I asked Sam to stay with me last night,” Dean cocked an eyebrow at me, “ugh – not like that, you perv.  I’m not exactly in any condition for extracurriculars, what with a hole in my hip.”  He got a chuckle out of that and I smiled at him, really smiled, before continuing, “anyhow, he stayed, but he was gone when I woke up this morning – I guess he left after I fell asleep.  It was stupid to ask, anyway.”  I shrugged a little and worried my lip, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing, despite the fact that Dean had all but caught me crying.  The knowing smirk still hadn’t left his face, prompting me to frown at him in a puzzled sort of way.

“You’re the most sensitive assassin I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Really.  Spent a lot of time around assassins, have you?” I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest and rolling my eyes. 

Dean ignored me and continued, “Sam stayed with you all night and woke up every hour to make sure your sorry ass was still breathing.” 

“Oh.” I breathed out, not sure what else to say, especially since I had been thinking the worst of Sam, just minutes before.  “So, where is he now?  Why have you taken over the babysitting duties?”

Dean pushed himself off the bed and shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly becoming intrigued with the scuff marks on the toes of his boots.  He cleared his throat and managed to hesitantly mumble out, “Sam gave me sponge bath duty.”

I giggled unabashedly, my aching body protesting the sporadic tensing in my abdomen and the shuddering of my shoulders. When I finally regained my composure enough to suck in a breath, I managed to respond with fervent sarcasm.  “And he really thought that I’d go for that, did he?”

Dean shrugged, his face just the slightest tinge of pink, “I don’t know!” He put his hands up defensively, “I guess he thought you wouldn’t want him to see your…you know, scars… again.”

“He told you about them?” I eyed Dean, who was nodding cautiously, and sucked my lips against my teeth. “Well, I don’t know whether to be flattered by his sense of propriety or offended that he doesn’t want to see me naked.” I paused and fixed Dean with a stern gaze, “Either way, all you’re gonna do is help me to the shower – I can bathe myself, thank you very much.” 

Dean seemed particularly relieved about that and set to his task with ardor. He helped sit me up in bed and I pointed him in the direction of my clothes, regarding him amusedly as he rifled through my underwear drawer, his face cherry-red.  If I hadn’t been feeling so peaked, I would’ve teased him – Dean Winchester, the ladies’ man, embarrassed by some clean panties – but the queasy feeling I had in my gut and the sudden chill that came over me were overriding my sense of humor.

Once Dean had finished gathering up the essentials, including some saran wrap that I planned on taping over my bandages to keep the water out, he slid me over to the edge of the bed and positioned me so that my feet touched the cold floor.  From there, I grabbed onto his forearms for support and brought myself upright, wincing at the pain that blossomed out from my wound.  

After that, it was just a matter of Dean slinging my arm over his shoulder and tucking my clothes under his arm before we shuffled slowly down the hallway toward the showers.  Along the way, I started to feel lightheaded and the nausea steadily grew worse but I pushed it away and chalked it up to the pain.

We made it to the showers after what felt like forever and Dean awkwardly helped me undress, just as I had with him, leaving me to saran wrap my wound when he was done.  I thanked him as he shuffled out of the tiled room, no doubt glad to be out of there.  Once he had gone, I stared down at my pinkish bandages and wrestled with my inner rationality.  I knew full well that I shouldn’t peel back the gauze yet, but at the same time I was so damn curious – in a morbid sort of way – about how my wound looked.  In the end, my curiosity won out and I peeled back the bandage, my eyes widening at the inflamed skin.  The area around the bullet hole was painfully swollen and bright red, the wound itself was weeping a smelly, whitish substance, and as I gingerly touched my fingertips to the skin, I felt heat radiating from it; instantly the hot/cold flashes and the nausea made sense.

“Dean!” I shouted, desperately hoping he hadn’t left.  He came around the corner in a panic, worry etched across his face.  “Go get Sam.”


	22. Feathers and Things

“Who. Do. You. Work. For?” Sam growled and drove in his question with several hard hits to Ratface’s gut.  The man, enduring his second beating since he’d been captured, winced and grunted in pain but shook his head in refusal of Sam’s questioning.  Sam’s fist cracked across the man’s jaw and blood rose up, pooling in his mouth and dribbling out obscenely as he dissolved into manic laughter.  Sam decided that the man was an absolute psycho – and on a semi-related note, that interrogating a human was harder than interrogating a monster, even if this guy had all the makings of a grade-A demon.

“Please, Sammy – that’s what your brother calls you, yes? – do you really think that you can just…hit me a few times and I’ll tell you everything?” The man laughed harshly, the outburst quickly turning into a fit of coughing.  He hacked and spat the blood from his mouth onto the floor before he continued, “Even if I told you, you would never win – there’s only three of you, well – two now – and ‘we are legion’.”  Yep, Sam thought fleetingly.  Definitely demon material. “Besides,” the man continued, “with the Redding woman taken care of, you and your brother are no longer a concern of ours.”

Sam took a threatening step toward Ratface, standing in front of the man as he hung from the ceiling by chains.  He grasped the hit-man by the throat and brought his face just centimeters from the man’s pointy nose and wild eyes – he really did look like a rat. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.  Doc is fine – I patched her up myself – and when she’s up to full strength again, we’re coming for your boss.” Sam jammed a finger into the middle of the man’s chest, watching him sway ever so subtly from his restraints.  “Now, let’s try this again.  Who do you work for?”

Ratface smirked, an evil gleam in his beady eyes, “go to hell, Winchester.”  Sam responded with a knowing smile and a light laugh before his expression turned steely.

“Already been.  It didn’t agree with me – but stick around and I’ll show you exactly what it was like.”

* * *

 

Doc sat naked and trembling on the bathroom floor, her legs were tucked beneath her and she was staring with wide eyes at the festering wound on her abdomen.  Dean had rushed into the room when she’d yelled for him, and now he was attempting some damage control.  He had grabbed the towel he’d set aside earlier and draped it around her before gathering her up in his arms and turning her face towards his chest – _away_ from the hole in her side.  He took a look at the wound himself and drew in a sharp breath.  Damn, it looked bad. 

“Come on Doc, it ain’t that bad.”  God, who was he kidding – he had no idea what to do about this.  Dean’s brain started whirring a mile a minute, going through every possible outcome; most ended with the infection spreading and Doc dying in excruciating pain.  Not to mention that Doc wasn’t much help, sitting on the tile floor with her eyes glazed over like she’d resigned herself to die.  Dean decided he had to get her thinking rationally again; he had to bring back the bright, cool-headed Doc that he knew was in there somewhere, screaming at this one to ‘stop being such a wimpy little bitch’.  Dean shifted himself to a kneeling position and began to lift Doc by her arms, speaking gruffly, “get up – you’re gonna shower while I go get Sam.”

Doc looked up at him and nodded, the fear and shock from seeing her body in such bad shape faded away and Dean could practically see Doc snap back into herself.  Her eyes sharpened, her breathing evened out, and she extricated herself from Dean’s embrace, trying to stand of her own accord.  She stumbled, of course, and ultimately Dean had to step in and help her get upright, but it had worked.  She was back – and Dean finally let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I’m sorry I’m such a bad patient.” Doc mumbled out as she gathered her towel around herself, her chin tucked toward her chest in what Dean could only assume was embarrassment.  He shrugged noncommittally and walked over to turn on the shower.

“It happens to the best of us.”  Dean stole a glance at Doc as he tested the water; her face was a light shade of pink that reached up to her ears, he figured the blush was just a side effect of the fever, her hair stuck to her forehead from the light sheen of sweat that was glistening tauntingly across her body, and Dean couldn’t help but notice the long straight scars that marred Doc’s back in perfect congruity.  He could tell that it was the work of someone who took time and pleasure in carving her up.

Dean could feel his stomach turn as a mental image of Doc being flayed open flashed through his head along with several memories of his time in hell; he pushed away the sick feeling, replacing it with anger and an overwhelming desire to heal her – to wash her scars away, if it were only that easy.  In any case, she was _his_ responsibility now and he was going to make damn sure that no one would ever lay a finger on her again.  He drew his gaze away before she could catch him staring and gestured to the running water.

“Water’s cool enough that it might bring down your fever a bit, just – if you get dizzy or whatever – sit down.  I’m gonna go get Sam, but I’ll be back to check on you in a couple minutes.” Dean waited a beat for Doc to nod again, it seemed to be her only form of communication since she’d had the shock of seeing her abdomen red and angry with infection; when she finally did, Dean turned and walked out into the hallway, taking a deep breath of the cool air in the bunker before setting off to find Sam.

As it turned out, Sam was exactly where Dean expected him to be, doing exactly what Dean expected him to be doing.  He clenched his jaw tightly as he strode into the dungeon, just in time to see Sam plunging a nasty-looking knife into the meat of Ratface’s thigh and in turn, Ratface squealing like a stuck pig.  Dean could tell Sam was tiring though, he’d been at it for hours with the man and was still no closer to getting any answers from him.  Sam yanked the knife out again and tossed it onto a table that was scattered with various other sinister looking implements.  He turned to Dean and nodded in response to his brother’s ‘we gotta talk’ face; they both cleaned up the room silently and walked out, leaving the ruined hitman by himself in the dark.

“What’s up Dean, why aren’t you with Catherine?”

“ _Again_ with the Catherine stuff – how do you even know she wants to be call…”

“Dean.”  Sam was frowning sternly at his brother and Dean himself sighed, mentally lamenting the fact that his brother knew him well enough to catch him stalling.

“Look man, you can’t freak out, okay?”  Dean looked up at his brother, gauging his reaction before continuing, “she’s got a real bad infection from that bullet – if we don’t get her some help…” Dean sighed again, bracing for the worst, “she’ll probably die.”

The blood drained from Sam’s face in an instant.  Dean watched in commiserative distress as Sam ran his fingers through his hair, thinking through the situation.

“Well, we can’t take her to a hospital.”

Dean shook his head and sighed, “Sam, I’ve gone through all of the possible scenarios – there are no happy endings here.”

“So, what Dean?  We just let her die; stand by and do nothing while she wastes away.  No – I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“What do you suggest then?  Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Dean paused, gesturing between the two of them, “we’re not doctors.”

“Cas.”

“I don’t know, man.  Cas is off doing whatever it is that he does – he’s not just gonna pop in to save some woman he doesn’t know.”

“He would if you asked.”  That was it.  Dean knew that, ultimately, Sam was right, but he rolled his eyes at his little brother anyway and started off down the hall, headed back for Doc.

“Dean, please.”  Sam was pleading now and was no doubt giving the puppy-dog eyes in Dean’s direction, to which the elder brother waved him off with a begrudging, “yeah, yeah – I’ll call.”

* * *

 

Dean was truly brilliant.  I had to admit that I was, mentally, in pretty terrible shape and he just swooped right in and saved me from myself.  As for the infection that had already spread far more rapidly than I’d ever seen, well, that was a different story.  It wasn’t particularly safe for me to show up at a hospital with a day-old bullet wound and a couple of large, intimidating men.  Not only would that draw attention from the police – who I’m sure were still investigating the dead hitman that crashed into a telephone pole – but I was also concerned that more of Creighton’s goons would be keeping an eye out for me at the hospitals in the area, hoping that I’d show up in exactly the shape I was currently in.  For now though, I was just taking things one step at a time, putting my complete trust in Dean and Sam, knowing that they’d do the best they could to keep me around. 

I stood under the steady stream of lukewarm water, not really doing too much bathing. My body hurt, I was about ready to shiver out of my skin, and I swore to myself that if I had to move even an inch, I was gonna throw up.  I halfheartedly washed the important parts of myself and turned off the shower.  Putting on my own clothes was a definite no-go, so I settled on wrapping my towel around my body and struggling down the hallway towards my room, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind me.  Once I had reached my room, I crawled carefully up onto the bed and pulled a blanket over myself, vaguely registering that the blanket smelled like Sam before I fell into a light sleep.

What could only have been a few minutes later, I awoke with a start to the sound of… wings?  I immediately used what little strength I had to scramble to the top of my bed and search in futility for a weapon to fend off the strange man that had just _appeared_ in the middle of my room.

“Holy shit!  Who the fuck are you and how’d you get in here?”  My heartrate skyrocketed (as if it could’ve gotten any higher) as the man took a few deliberate steps toward me and raised his hand to my temple.  “What the he-“ I started, but was cut off by the wave of warmth that washed over me and left my skin tingling. 

“Your infection is gone.  You should be fine now.”  The man’s voice was deep and authoritative and as I took in the sight of him, I could feel his steely eyes boring into me.  It was more than uncomfortable, but I raised my chin and forced myself to meet his eyes.

“Who are you?”  I managed to squeak out.

“My name is Castiel, but…” he paused a minute, looking a tad unsure of himself, “Sam and Dean prefer to call me Cas.  I’m an angel of the Lord.”  I raised my eyebrows at that; what a strange life I was a part of now.  “Dean said you were a friend and needed help so I came – they, um, also mentioned…” Cas dropped his gaze to the floor and shuffled his feet a bit; surprising me at his behavior – who knew that an angel would be so…human.

“The scars?”  He looked up at me again and nodded.

“Dean said that I should just heal them, but Sam suggested that I ask you first.”  I smiled a little, remembering what Sam had said about them just the night before. 

“You know what, Cas?  I think Dean had the right idea – I’m ready to be done with them, it’s as good a time as any to start over fresh.”  I shrugged and smiled at him encouragingly as he stepped toward me again and healed my scars.  

My legs were whole again, the long, raised lines that had once covered my back were gone, and the puckered scar from a previous bullet to the abdomen, had smoothed over.  I felt my eyes burning with more tears (that I was determined to hold back this time); I stood, took a deep breath, and threw my arms around the angel, squeezing him tightly.  Cas stiffened in my arms at first, but gradually relaxed and reciprocated my embrace, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I had done around his neck.

“Thank you, Castiel.  That meant the world to me.”  I released him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, laughing a little as his face turned a light shade of pink.  “Oh, and I don’t know if the boys told you, but I’m Catherine by the way.”

“You’re welcome, Catherine.  I wouldn’t doubt that I’ll see you again, especially with your involvement in subterfuge and assassination.” He was so delightfully blunt.

“Well, you know what they say, dangerous is the new sexy.” I winked at him and smiled brightly. 

Cas just furrowed his brow, staring at me quizzically, “I don’t believe I’ve heard that one.”

“Don’t sweat it, sweet cheeks, I just made it up.”


	23. Anything for Sammy

Two months.  Two long, boring months since my almost-demise.  Two months that I couldn’t shoot or stab anything, two months on lockdown under the ever-watchful eye of Dean Winchester, and two months spent getting my ass kicked six ways from Sunday by Sam, who insisted that I refine my hand-to-hand combat skills, while I waited for them to try to glean some sort of information from the guy we still had chained up in the dungeon.

But nothing was working and it was getting old.  Sam took over the task most of the time, but from what I heard in whispered conversations (that definitely weren’t meant for my ears), Dean was actually the resident torture expert.  Of course, there were brooding emotions and intense conflictions about the whole thing, so Sam just did it.  _He_ wasn’t getting the job done though, and _I_ was getting stir-crazy with pent up frustration, an overabundance of energy, and crazy levels of not-quite-sexual tension between myself and a certain Winchester. 

“Ugh!”  I practically growled at Sam as he pinned me to the ground for the fifth time in the past hour.  “Sam, I’m so sick of this shit! I got along just fine before you and I’ll get along _again_ without you trying to turn me into some… MMA fighter.”  I glared up at him, sweat-covered and eyes shining, as he rested above me on his elbows, grasping one of my wrists above my head; I furrowed my brow while he let out a light chuckle and smiled down at me.  I could feel the heat from his body seeping into my skin, a welcome sensation against the crisp breeze that still chilled the air.  And his breath, that came out in short pants from exertion, fanned gently across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, adding warmth to my face as if it wasn’t terribly hot already.  The dry blades of grass that had survived the previous snowy months now bristled beneath my neck as I willed myself to sink into the hard ground – maybe then Sam wouldn’t be able to hear my traitorous heart threatening to beat out of my chest, like I was some schoolgirl in the moments before her very first kiss.

“You’re not going anywhere until you can take me down without a problem.”  His voice was stern, but I watched in what could only be described as complete adoration as the skin around Sam’s eyes crinkled with his lopsided grin and his disheveled hair shone chestnut in the sun.  I reached up tentatively with my free hand to brush the damp hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear, unaware of just how intently he was studying my movements.  I fleetingly wondered what he was thinking about in this moment as his gaze rested upon my reddened face.

“Who says I _want_ to go anywhere?” It was only a whisper, so I let my fingertips linger on his jaw and took a deep breath to still my erratic heartbeat, hoping that while my voice had betrayed me, that my hands wouldn’t.  I watched his gaze flicker from eyes to my lips then back again.  I can only assume that he had caught me doing the same, because he boldly leaned down and closed the distance between us, gently pressing his warm lips to mine.

The kiss was sweet and consuming and all too short – Sam being the one to decide the two of us needed air.  I was rather unconvinced about the value of oxygen and in a post-kiss haze, reasoned that I would be quite happy to die by the lips of Sam Winchester.  A brief, hungry glance passed between us before Sam’s mouth came crashing back to mine and he released his hold on my wrist in favor of twisting his fingers tightly around my hair, using his free hand to reposition his body between my thighs.

Sam was needy and dominating, seeking to pry apart my lips to make room for his tongue, his hands grasping at my short hair and gripping my hip tightly enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, letting go only to run his palm over the exposed skin of my abdomen.  I was drunk on him as he ground against me; practically putty beneath his fingertips as heat pooled deep in my belly and I scrambled to find the hem of Sam’s shirt, if only to drag my fingernails along the skin beneath it.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over.  Sam’s lips broke from mine – mercifully he left his hands where they were – leaving me a breathless, wanton mess beneath him, sighing disappointedly at the loss of him. 

“We should talk about this.”  Leave it to Sam to have a clear head in such a heated situation.

“What’s there to talk about, Sam?  I mean, you’ve slept next to me every night since my accident, not to mention whatever happened just now, and even Dean said…”  I shook my head slightly, best to leave Dean out of it, “I just thought you wanted this – me.”  I could feel my heart deflating as I looked away from him to fiddle with the edge of my sleeve.  I felt, rather than heard, him sigh heavily as he sat up on the grassy hill, pulling me up behind him with hardly any effort.

“Catherine, I _do_ want you.  Of course I do…but, right now we’re in the middle of something pretty big and pretty dangerous and I think that maybe we should hold off – just until this is over and I know that you’re safe.” Sam lifted his arm to beckon me closer to him, sliding it around my waist and pulling me to his side once I had scooted within his reach.  I murmured an agreement to Sam’s idea and melted into him, enjoying his presence; his sturdiness, his calm, the fact that he was keeping me from freezing as the sun sunk behind the trees; and from our place on the hill, we had a perfect view of the day’s retreat.  

The light dimmed and glowed in rich colors.  Slowly burning rays melting into the horizon, quenching the day's thirst with a cool darkness, as rich hues of violet and rose streamed across the sky.  The yellows and golds that followed, streamed softly into creamy ribbons, creating a scene that seemed to radiate an aura of peace and tranquility.  The sky, dyed deeply with vibrant pigments, reached its waning fingers through the sparse winter leaves.  Doused, like a candle, the light of the day was gone; the cobweb clouds were its smoke trails, and the last slices of light, its waning embers.

Sam bent down to place a soft kiss on the top of my head before he helped me up and intertwined his long fingers with mine.  We made our way down the grassy slope and back to the bunker, eager for the comforts of a hot shower and whatever concoction that Dean had come up with for dinner. 

The bunker door slammed behind us as Sam and I descended the steps to the ground floor.  I lifted my nose to the air and sniffed appreciatively, deeply inhaling the mouthwatering smells that wafted from the kitchen.

“Dean!  We’re home!” I called out to him from the bottom of the stairs, my voice echoing around the room as Sam came up beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder, while gesturing down the hall with the other hand and mouthing that he was headed for the showers.

“Kitchen!” Dean was hollering from, indeed, the kitchen, where he was piddling around wielding a lethal looking wooden spoon in his hand as he swayed in time to the music that he’d turned on to keep himself company.  For a few minutes, I stood in the doorway, amusedly watching Dean glide from counter to counter, adding a sprinkle of seasoning over here and stirring something over there.  When Dean cooked, he was the closest to being truly happy that _I_ had ever seen and I absorbed his joy by proxy; it was one of my favorite things to watch him cook.

“What are you doing over there, creeper?” Dean glanced up at me with a smirk before refocusing on the dinner.

“Maybe I just like lookin’ at you. Ever thought of that?” I stepped down into the kitchen and headed for the fridge, sidestepping a swat from a kitchen towel as I passed through Dean’s prep-zone.

“Well, looking’s free, Sweetheart.  But touching – that’ll cost you.”  He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Honey, I don’t pay.  Besides, you know I only like you for your cooking.”  I retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and opened a beer for Dean, handing it to him with a smile and chuckling as he clinked it against my plastic water bottle.  He took a swig of his beer and regarded me for a moment, his eyes flicking over my face as he took in my disarray.  My hair was a mess from Sam’s fingers, my clothes were dirty and grass-stained from tussling earlier, and my lips were no doubt still kiss-swollen from our extracurricular activities on the hill.

“Looks like you and Sam worked things out.” Dean looked away and went back to chopping an onion, tossing the pieces into a large bowl as he went.  I sighed and lifted myself up onto the counter, a small smile playing on my lips as I thought about Sam.

“Well, we made out, if that’s what you’re alluding to.”  Dean’s forehead crinkled in fake interest as he nodded and mustered a soft grunt in reply.  “That was it though.  He’s making me wait for the whole ‘relationship talk’ until after I – we solve the problem of the organized crime boss that wants me dead.”

“Yeah, well Sammy always was the prudent one.”  I focused on Dean’s hands as he worked, noticing his chopping become a little more erratic, his shoulders tensed up, and he wouldn’t even meet my eye.  “Dinner’ll be ready in about 20 minutes.  You should hit the shower, Doc – you’ve got some time.”  I nodded dumbly and slid off the counter, perplexed at his sudden demeanor change.  I made my way out of the kitchen quietly – unsure if I should say anything – and paused a moment, just out of Dean’s sight.  I only there long enough to see Dean chuck a wooden spoon across the room and hear it clatter to the floor.  As I made my way to the shower room to get cleaned up, I couldn’t help but think that Dean had looked…jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... I wasn't sure how this chapter would turn out and I am definitely curious to know what y'all think. This was kind of a filler chapter, but it's also somewhat important to the plot for things that happen later...  
> Oh! I know Cas didn't stick around for long, but *spoiler* he'll be back again; it was just necessary that I introduce him to Doc at some point and that was it.  
> Thanks again for reading, guys! I appreciate it :)


	24. Note from the Author

Hello everyone! It's been forever since I last posted a chapter, but I wanted to let you know that another one is currently in the works. I haven't abandoned you! I just got a new job so that's been taking up a lot of my time and energy - otherwise you'd probably have two chapters by now. Thank you for sticking around, I hope y'all have as much fun reading this as I do writing it. I'll be posting again soon!


	25. New Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!  
> I'm sorry this took so long; I hope the chapter makes up for it. As always, thanks for sticking around!

Dean was pissed as he stalked over to pick up the spoon he’d flung, pausing a moment to examine the dent he’d made in the fridge’s door.  He tossed the spoon into the sink then turned to lean back against the counter, drawing a weary hand down his face.

Finally, after all these years, his brother had found a woman that had not only survived this long in relative proximity to him, but was also more than capable of taking care of herself; and as much as Dean hated dragging people into the life, he had to admit that with a little bit of training, Doc would make a damn good hunter.  It was all so perfect – except for the flashbacks Dean would get, reminding him of Charlie and how he still couldn’t quite forgive Sam for her death.   

Doc was _not_ Charlie, he told himself.  Doc was an assassin – a stone cold vigilante that had done enough damage that she had a target on her back; she was battle-hardened, dangerous, and more like him than Dean would care to acknowledge.  Therein lie the problem.   Doc was just like him, which meant that as long as she drew breath, she would never stop going after Creighton.  It meant that she would do whatever it took to get her revenge, but it also meant that she would die before letting anything happen to him or his brother.  That’s what worried him.

Dean sighed heavily and slid their dinner into the oven before setting a timer for twenty minutes and draining his beer.  He sank to the floor of the kitchen, back against the cabinetry and knees bent up toward his torso, providing a place to rest his elbows as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

He had made a promise to himself that he would protect Doc, she was too much a part of their lives now for him not to, but he knew that something dangerous was coming.  He knew that as soon as the Winchesters and their oxymoron of a doctor set out to take down Creighton, all of them would be at risk.  Dean didn’t want Sam to have to go through the loss of another woman, there was no guarantee that he’d be able to bear it this time.  So, as Dean sat on the cold floor of the kitchen, anger rose up within him.  Anger that he couldn’t keep Doc from her mission, anger that he couldn’t promise her safety, and anger that Sam had fallen for the only woman that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, was going to die – sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

Doc, headed for her own shower and passing Sam along the way, got caught around the waist and gathered up into Sam’s arms for a brief kiss before he sent her back on her way with a grin like a Cheshire cat and slightly flushed cheeks.  Sam forced himself to pry his eyes from her retreating figure and turned, pushing the damp hair back from his face before starting off toward the kitchen in search of his brother.

It was upon descending into the kitchen that Sam found Dean, sitting on the floor with the back of his head resting against the cabinetry.  For a moment, he looked like he was asleep, his arms were folded over his chest and his legs were stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, but before Sam had decided whether or not to wake him, Dean shifted a little and spoke.

“You know, normally I might find people staring at me to be flattering, but first Doc – and now you? It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you feel objectified?” Sam gave his brother a small chuckle and sat down across from him as Dean peeked open an eye in mild disdain. The younger brother waited a breath and steeled himself, “So, did Catherine tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Dean closed his eyes again and let an almost imperceptible smirk play across his lips.

“Come on Dean, you two have been practically best friends since she got shot; fixing her car together and teaching her about lore and hunting… I know for a fact that she confides in you more than she does with me.” Sam’s shoulders slumped as he let out a heavy sigh and he felt his pleasant expression fade into one of concern.  “She has nightmares.  Every night.  Sometimes I can tell that they’re about her parents or her deployments – but the worst ones… Dean, she screams like she’s been to hell.”

Dean opened his eyes and stared silently at his brother for a moment before clearing his throat to speak. “Well, if there’s anyone who knows what that sounds like, it’s us.” He paused another moment and glanced up at the ceiling, “Sam. We can’t let this Creighton guy take Doc from us… I just, I don’t think that I can lose another one.”

“I’m not won’t let that happen.  I mean, this could really work – I have another chance at something relatively normal and I’m not going to let it go that easily.  We’ve gotta find this guy… and when we do, it’s going to take a lot more than a couple of thugs to protect him.”

“I don’t know, man.  I get it, I do, but this isn’t our gig.  Why can’t we just keep Doc here until this all blows over?  This is the safest place in the world, there’s no way they’d be able to get to her in here.”

Sam scoffed at his brother in disbelief and furrowed his brow, “Are you serious?  There’s no way she’s gonna go for that, Dean!  What are you gonna do if she refuses, lock her up in the dungeon with that psycho?”  Sam lifted himself off the floor as irritation bubbled up within him, and started for the door, but Dean quickly leapt up and grasped his brother by the arm, halting his momentum.

“Hey, you can’t just walk out!” Dean’s voice dropped an octave and vibrated around the room as he pointed a finger at Sam and jabbed it at his chest, “you’re the one that convinced me in Florida to let her come with us, when I thought it was a bad idea – because when has having friends ever worked out for us?  But I agreed, begrudgingly.  _Now_ she matters to me and I’m trying my damnedest to keep her alive, but _you_ want to let her run right out into the crossfire!  Forgive me if I’m not just okay with that!”

“Come on, Dean.  She’s a grown woman; she’s gonna do whatever she wants and you don’t really have a say.  She’s been after this guy for years – I know what it’s like to want revenge on someone for killing your family, hell – both of us could write a book on it, so I’m not gonna be the one to deny her that.  And if it means that I have to get involved to make sure that this turns out alright, then so be it.  Personally, I would rather be at her side when she goes after this guy, then sitting around here just hoping she makes it out alive.”

The brothers stared at each other in silence for a moment, their differing viewpoints leaving them at a sort of stalemate.  Sam knew in his heart that Dean just wanted everything to turn out alright, and he did have a point, but Sam also understood that nothing would stop Doc from getting her revenge, nor would Creighton ever stop hunting her.  He reasoned that he wanted to be fighting alongside Doc when shit inevitably went to hell, rather than grieving later and wishing he had done more.  His brain and his heart were at war with each other and Sam was practically ‘damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t’.  There was no perfect answer, but then again, there never was in lives of the Winchesters.

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by Doc rapping the doorframe lightly with her knuckles and clearing her throat, before hesitantly entering the kitchen.  “Am I interrupting something?”

The men took a step back from each other and awkwardly indicated that the conversation they’d been having was nothing important.  Sam’s heartrate sped up a little as he surveyed Doc’s analytical expression, watching for any sign that she knew what had just transpired.  It was for naught though, because Doc’s interest in the awkward situation had diminished, and instead, she sort of scrunched up her nose and walked over to peek inside the oven, clearly suspicious about the state of dinner. 

“Oh, jeez, Dean!  The food’s burning.”  She grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the dish from the oven, sliding it onto the stovetop to inspect it further.  Sam and Dean both came over to survey the damage, sidling up on either side of Doc, who had begun an attempt at salvaging dinner by scraping the burnt bits off with a knife.  She huffed in defeat as she found more burnt parts than unburnt parts, and tossed the knife into the sink instead.  “Well that sucks,” she said, turning back to face the brothers, her arms crossed over her ribcage and sporting a rather bemused smile on her face, “so… pizza?”

* * *

 

After a brief, yet strongly worded, conversation about how Dean had "spent an hour and a half preparing a dinner that would completely go to waste so he wasn’t too thrilled about making a pizza run", and about how I was, as Dean so lovingly put it, “under no circumstances to leave the bunker by herself”; or, myself – whatever, the point is that I wasn’t going anywhere and Dean wasn’t going anywhere and that only left Sam to go pick up the pizza.

That put me in the rather unfortunate position of acting like I hadn’t just been lingering in the hallway, biting my tongue while Sam and Dean fought over my safety.  Safety – what bullshit; I was never going to be safe either way. 

“Hey Dean?” He was cleaning up the mess he’d made from dinner, scraping food into the garbage disposal and rising out dishes, so I slid myself up onto the counter next to him, which seemed to be a prerequisite for confiding in the older Winchester. 

“Yeah, what’s up, Doc?” I sighed and rolled my eyes as that goofy grin spread across his face and he glanced up to see my reaction.

“Like I’ve never heard that one before…” I trailed off, leaving out my usual sardonicism, and shifted awkwardly as I looked down intently at my hands, pushing back my cuticles or cleaning under my nails; anything to avoid eye contact with Dean.  “Look, Dean… I heard you and Sam talking about me and I understand your concerns, but Sam is right.  I’m not gonna stop hunting Creighton – it’s just not gonna happen, and to think that I’ll just let you keep me locked down in this bunker is naïve and…”

“You’re right.”

“…I don’t think it’s particularly fair to treat me like some – wait, what?” My heart leapt in my chest as my brain spun all of its cogs, furiously trying to figure out what had changed his mind.  “All of a sudden you’re okay with it?”

Dean frowned at me halfheartedly, “Yeah, you heard me, but if you think for one second that you can go after this guy alone, you’d better think again.  Me and Sammy are gonna be right there with you the whole way.  I don’t like this idea now, any more than I liked it half an hour ago, but I know that there’s no putting a leash on you.”

I hopped down off of the counter and wrapped my arms around Dean before he could protest.  “Thank you.  Really, there’s nobody that I’d rather have at my side than you and Sam.  You guys are all I’ve got left.  I was scared for once – to have do this on my own.” I released him from the hug and smirked up at him, thinking back to when I’d seen him lob a spoon across the kitchen.  “You know, I’m actually glad I heard you two talking, because earlier I thought you were pissed about me and Sam getting together.”

His expression turned serious and he folded his arms across his chest, “No offense Doc, but you would drive me insane; we’d go together like oil and water.”

“I think you’re right,” I laughed, “We’re too alike and I’m far too independent for you – Sam lets me do what I want.  But hey! I’ve always wanted an overprotective big brother.”

“Really?”

“Nope.  But I’ll take one anyway if you’re interested in adopting.” I punched him playfully on the arm and ducked quickly out of his reach before he could get me back.  He chuckled dryly and lifted his hands up in capitulation.

“Yeah, that’s all I need right now; another stubborn sibling who won’t listen to a word I have to say.”

Ultimately Dean decided that he could probably be okay with a _barely_ younger (as I was quick to point out) sister that he could constantly keep out of trouble, after all, wasn’t that his job already?  Sam arrived home shortly after with pizzas in one hand and beer in the other, and we all sat down together to eat, like we had done countless times before.  Nothing really had changed, but as I sat there quietly, listening to the boys’ laughter and hanging intently on every word of every story they told between mouthfuls food and sips of beer, I felt whole.  I had a family again and it seemed to wash away all of the hatred and lust for revenge I had for Creighton.  In that moment, I realized that I wanted nothing more than to stay in that very place forever – in peace and happiness.  But as all good stories go, that was not to be.  I was still hunted and whether I hated him still or not, I still had an evil son of a bitch to deal with. 

Even as I climbed into bed that night, with Sam sliding in next to me and draping his arm across my middle, refusing to sleep back to back as we had been; even as I nestled into him and began to drift to sleep, I heard whispers from the dark corners of my mind, reaching out from the bonds I’d put them in, to chill me to my core. 

_Catherine Redding is going to die._


	26. Fear Itself: Part 1

I had my weapon trained on the men in the window.  The rooftop I was on was the perfect vantage point to see everything that was happening in the building that was a block away from us.  I lined up my sights with the target and slowly inhaled –

“Doc – take the shot.”  Dean’s voice was filtering through my earpiece, his anxiety palpable. 

“Don’t rush me, Dean.” I began to fill my lungs again, watching as the target continued talking to the other men.  He was starting to act strangely, though.  Never once did he turn to face the window or even gesture with his hands, in fact, he stood perfectly still the whole time with his hands clasped in front of him.  I furrowed my brow and did a double-take…were his hands tied?

“Come on Doc, we don’t got all night, here.  Just take the shot.”

“Something’s not right.” My stomach dropped as I watched through my scope and saw the man’s whole body begin to shudder; he was unmistakably crying.

“What are you talking about?” Sam this time.

“Guys, it’s a set up.  The guy in the room is just a decoy.” I pushed myself off the ground and started packing up my gear as fast as I could; I packed up my rifle in its case and hid it behind some vents on the rooftop before grabbing my backpack and heading for the stairwell, where Sam was supposed to be waiting for me.  Before I could start down the stairs, I lifted my binoculars and turned to get one last look, just in time to watch the decoy crumple to the ground and begin to leak blood.

Less than a second later, Dean was practically yelling in my ear to ‘hurry my ass up’ as I rushed down the steps.  Sam was oddly quiet in all the chaos, which I didn’t think much of until I rounded the corner to the 15th floor landing and saw Sam with a gun to the back of his head, held by none other than Ratface himself.

“Shit,” I breathed, raising my handgun and spinning to face the attacker who was inevitably behind me.  I wasn’t quick enough and everything went black.

* * *

 

**96 hours earlier**

 

Another quiet, peaceful, dreadfully boring day passed in the bunker, where I had assumed my usual position in the library.  If I wasn’t training with Sam or hanging out in the garage with Dean, I was there – feet propped up on the table, reading glasses balanced precariously on my nose, and nestled in my lap was whatever Men of Letters ‘fighting the supernatural: for dummies’, that I was slogging my way through that day. 

“Hey! Feet off the table.” Dean, fresh from a supply run, made his way toward the table, his bowed legs bending at funny angles as he came up the steps to the room.  He unceremoniously pushed my feet off the table, replacing them with four grocery bags full of only the essentials…like beer and beef jerky apparently.  “Doing a little light afternoon reading?”  He drawled with a quirked eyebrow, gesturing to the book in my hands as he popped the lid off of a beer bottle and took a draft from it.

“Yeah, ‘ABC’s: Monster Edition’,” I replied in a monotone, boredom oozing from the words as I picked at the corners of the pages with my fingernails. “I made it to ‘W’; werewolves, wendigo, witches, women in white,” I paused to sigh and massage my temple, “The whore of Babylon.”

Dean nodded, “Oh, I remember her – hell of a broad.”

“Real punny, Dean.” I said dryly, rolling my eyes for good measure.  I set down the book, laid my glasses on top of it, and stood up to go through the groceries, mumbling grumpily about the contents as I sorted them into piles of kitchen goods and non-kitchen goods.  “Would it kill you to pick up some vegetables every now and again?”

“What are you talking about?” He reached over and rummaged through the bags himself, until he found what he was looking for. “See?  Baby carrots!”

I opened my mouth to dispute the actual nutritional value that a single, sad little bag of carrots added to our diet, but the words never left my mouth. Instead, Sam bounded in with a look that told us he’d had a breakthrough.

“Guys, I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

 

**Now**

My head complained to me persistently via the rhythmic thrumming that I felt just above my left temple.  I ignored the pain and pried my eyes open slowly, allowing myself to see just a sliver between my heavy eyelids to acquaint myself with the room I was in, while hopefully not alerting anyone to the fact that I was now conscious.  Far from surprising, my wrists were crossed above me and bore metal cuffs that were attached to large chains that reached down from the ceiling, holding me in the air so that only the toes of my boots reached the ground.  The position made my shoulders ache like crazy and my wrists were a bit raw from hanging on them with my full weight, but other than that, I was no worse for wear. 

I opened my eyes a bit more to hazard a furtive glance around the room.  I was surrounded on all sides with what looked to be solid concrete – no windows and one door that was predictably metal with a large bolt holding it shut.  I breathed in shallowly and damp, stale air filled my lungs; this was just perfect.  I was trapped in the same smelly, dingy torture room that featured in every movie-villain’s monologue scene – so much for a creative opponent.  There was a small amount of movement from the corner of the room that caught my eye and upon examining the area closer, what I saw brought me both relief and a fresh wave of anxiety.

It was Sam, rousing himself from his own blunt-force nap, groaning in pain as he misjudged the space between his head and the wall, and banged his already bruised skull against the concrete behind him.  I was comforted by Sam’s presence; that all too human and all too selfish relief that came with knowing I wasn’t completely alone.  At the same time, I wished that he was anywhere but there; that he was safe with Dean in some dingy motel room planning my rescue and not chained to a wall, at the mercy of whatever shitty thing could possibly happen next.

I decided, perhaps unwisely, to throw caution to the wind and let Sam know that I was okay.  Opening my eyes fully, I looked over at him and managed an ironic sort of grin. “Good morning, Sunshine,” I croaked out, “how’s the head?”  Inwardly I frowned, my throat was dry, I could barely keep my head up to look at him.  On a hunch, I pinched the skin on the top of my right hand and sure enough, it didn’t snap back into place like it should’ve; I was clearly dehydrated and I could almost guarantee that it was because I had been stripped down to just my tank-top and my body had started up a cold sweat as it worked to keep me warm.  Dehydration was going to be a problem if some sort of torture started, but I was going to keep that all from Sam for the time being.

“It hurts,” he admitted with a half-chuckle as he laid his head back against the wall again, a tad more gently this time, “how long have I been out?”

“Well, I woke up just a few minutes before you, but I think that we’ve been shot up with something to keep us knocked out longer,” even as I said it, I scrutinized the inside of my elbow and saw a tiny trail of blood the seemed to originate from what looked like a pin-prick, “I bet you five bucks that they moved us to another state, or country, for that matter.  Who knows how long they kept us under.”  I sighed and let my head rest against my shoulder, avoiding eye-contact with Sam, “I can’t believe I got you into this mess.”

He was quiet for a moment, no doubt contemplating our situation; perhaps seriously rethinking his decision to throw his lot in with mine.  Then out of nowhere, he started laughing – just a small, quiet laugh, but a strange reaction nonetheless.  I lifted my head again and quirked an eyebrow at him quizzically.  “And what, pray tell, is so funny over there?”

“If we’re in any other country than Canada or Mexico, we’re out of luck.”  That wasn’t a particularly comforting sentiment.

“What, why?” 

“Can you imagine Dean trying to get through airport security with all of his weapons?”

I snorted and shook my head, “Yeah, you’re right; let’s hope he doesn’t have to fly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I suck. I have no excuse for taking so long - I'm just a slacker. Oh well. Hope you enjoy!


	27. Murphy's Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, SO, SO SORRY!!! I don't even have a good excuse - I just suck. This story is going to get a wrap-up soon; y'all be thinking about whether you want to read more from me, or if I need to quit while I'm ahead. (I honestly can't decide, so some feedback would be lovely.) Thanks all, for sticking with it; I hope you enjoy this (extremely belated) chapter!

**90 hours earlier**

“So, you’re saying that we should just let him go?” I rubbed my fingertips to my temple and glanced incredulously from Sam to Dean and back again. “I mean, it’ll be great to get rid of him and all, but don’t you think he’ll just go straight back to Creighton and his goons?”

            “Yes, exactly!  That’s what we want.  Look – it’s been months and we aren’t any closer to getting important information from him.  If we let him go, then we can follow him and he’ll lead us straight to Creighton.”

            Technically, Sam was right.  We had tried everything to get Ratface to talk and it just wasn’t working.  Setting him free and just, seeing where he went (regardless of how crazy it was) remained the best idea we had.  The _only_ idea we had.  After a while of pondering every possible outcome of this horrible plan, I finally stopped pacing a hole through the floor and took my hands off of my hips in favor of bracing my palms against the wooden library table and closely regarding Dean, who sat just opposite me. 

            “Dean, what do you think about all this?” 

            “Honestly, Doc,” he rubbed his forehead and shrugged a little, “I think it’s the only thing we’ve got.  We’ve officially run out of options; if we want to catch, kill, whatever – this Creighton guy, then we need to do it soon.  He hasn’t stopped doing bad shit just because we’re struggling to get a bead on him and he sure as hell hasn’t stopped looking for you.” He paused and drummed his fingertips on the table before cementing his decision, “besides, I couldn’t wait to get rid of that guy since the day I met him.  I say we do it.”

            I stared at the two brothers, their jaws were set, the picture of determination on their faces – how could I argue with that?

            “Alright.  Fine, but I’m only giving him 32 hours to make contact with the rest of them; after that, he gets wiped from the board by yours truly.”  The boys nodded in agreement as I turned to walk out of the room. “Saddle up, boys.  Things are gonna start moving fast.”

* * *

 

**24 hours later**

            Ratface had run home to his criminal friends a lot quicker than I had anticipated.  In fact, he had gone straight there, blissfully unaware that we were tracking and recording him the whole way.  It had been Sam’s idea to sew the tracker into the collar of Ratface’s coat and Dean’s idea to put a tap on his cellphone, if he was stupid enough to use it, and recording device in a different part of the coat, in case he wasn’t.  Naturally, I was the one that had been tasked with unstitching and re-stitching the coat so that the modifications went unnoticed, and when I was finished, we had hauled him out into the woods, in a random part of the state and just…dropped him off.  Sure enough, as soon as he reached a place with cell reception, he had made a call stating that he was on his way back to “the club”.  One could only assume he wasn’t headed there for drinks and dancing.

            So, just like we’d planned, we followed him all the way to Las Vegas, which was particularly thrilling for Dean who seemed to have temporarily forgotten that we were on a serious mission.  For me, it was an 18 hour, anxiety-ridden drive that ended with the three of us collapsing into bed; Dean sprawled out across his mattress, while Sam and I ended up in a sleepy, haphazard tangle of limbs on top of ours.

We all rested for about an hour before getting cleaned up, organizing our equipment, and catching up on the conversations and movements from Ratface that we had missed while we were asleep.  He hadn’t moved for the last hour and the last recording that we had was of him asking for a room at the hotel across the street from ours, so we assumed that he had had the same idea as us and was resting before making contact with anyone.

During that time, Sam went out and rented a small, non-descript sedan that wouldn’t be nearly as recognizable as the Impala, which would come in handy when we inevitably had to tail Ratface.  When he finally woke up, the first thing Ratface did was make a phone call arranging a meeting at 10:00 o’clock that evening at “the club” that he had mentioned earlier.  That gave us two more hours to plan and get ready for the meet.

“Sam, did you do a search to see if there’s any places around here that are just called, “The Club”?  I mean, it would be super convenient if tha-“

“Yep.  It’s not far from here, actually,” Sam said, cutting me off mid-sentence. “But, I’m not really sure how we’re going to explain why we’re there.”

“What are you talking about?” I leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at his computer screen and let out a brief snort of laughter at what he was implying.  “Are you saying we’d be out of place as a patrons or employees?”

“I don’t know, both?” He looked up at me and shrugged, “it’s a young crowd and your look doesn’t exactly say ‘party girl’.  Dean and I definitely don’t look like we belong in a club either.”

I flashed Sam a sly sort of smile before replying, “well, that’s perfect – I was gonna take the high-priced escort angle anyway.” I closed the space between us and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his slightly agape mouth before turning on my heel, grabbing my duffel, and slipping into the bathroom, leaving behind an all too perplexed hunter in my wake.  I had to chuckle to myself, listening to the boys through the bathroom door as I shimmied out of my pants and pulled my shirt over my head

“Did she say escort?”

“Uh, yeah.  I think she did.”

“Well, how the hell is that supposed to help?”

“I don’t know, Dean.  Just go with it.”

“Oh - boys?” I called out to the them, cracking the door just a sliver, “You’re both going in with me.  I’ll let you fight for who gets to be escorted and who gets to play bodyguard, but either way you’re gonna need to go shopping.”

* * *

 

**Now**

 

My lips were excruciatingly raw from the chapped skin I had been anxiously chewing off; every swallow was dry and painful as my body spiraled further into dehydration.  Sam was feeling just as bad, though he didn’t let on,  but we kept our conversation to a minimum and instead offered each other small glances of reassurance every so often, while we waited for whatever came next.

That was perhaps the worst part.  The waiting.  The wondering.  Our hearts raced at every voice in the hall or set of footsteps that shuffled past the door.  Sam and I were both bracing ourselves for the inevitable worst and my imagination ran rampant with images of whatever that could possibly be. 

“Sam?” My voice was almost imperceptible and I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me until he lifted his head, taking me in, worry etched across his brow.

“Catherine, are you doing alright?”

“Yeah.  I’m as good as can be expected.”  In truth, my feet, wrists, back, and shoulders ached, my knees were shaking and could have given in beneath me at any moment, and I could barely keep my eyes held open as I looked at him. “Listen Sam, I’ve been in this situation before and – well, it’s most likely gonna go downhill pretty soon.  I need you to know that whatever happens to me, I can take it. You can’t show any sentiment, okay? Get it in your mind that you don’t care, that I’m nobody – and maybe they won’t make you watch.”

A reluctant nod was all I received by way of response.  Sam knew what was coming, it was less a matter of ‘if’, rather, it was ‘when’;  he knew in his sinking heart that the men who held us were sadistic and wouldn’t be finished with me until I was begging for death.  He didn’t need to reply, really.  I could see it in his eyes – the fear, the pain at the thought of losing someone else, and the anger of knowing that there was nothing he could do.

“I won’t let them separate us, Catherine.  Whatever it takes, I’ll be here – I don’t want you to face it alone.”


End file.
